A Brother's Bond
by SuperKat
Summary: FINISHED! Mikey gets sick and the turtles remember years earlier, when one of them nearly died. But this time, there is another problem, and the situation quickly becomes grave...
1. Part 1 & 2

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I'm not sure who owns the comic books, or the new series for that matter (this story comes off the new cartoon), but it isn't me. I'm just a lowly writer with no life. I am not making any money off of this. No infringement is intended.

I don't own the Goonies either. I just adore them.

* * *

**PART 1**

* * *

_Three sets of scared young eyes watched the bed as the small figure tossed and turned, groaning. Another, older, wiser set of eyes narrowed in worry and grief as a furry paw brushed the boy's fevered forehead. The bandana had been taken off days ago; his master placed a wet cloth where it had been and sighed.  
  
"Is he gunna be okay, Sensei?" asked one of the boys. Splinter closed his eyes, wishing he knew the answer.  
  
"Your brother is very sick," he said, not taking his eyes from his son's face, contorted in pain and fear and whatever else the poor boy was feeling at the moment. "Pneumonia can become very grave. Only time will tell."  
  
The boys nodded, their young eyes wide.  
  
"Thankfully," Splinter continued, "He has the form that is not catching, so each of you may spend as much time with him as you like, within reason. Your presence will help to heal him, I am sure. But for now, there are sandwiches in the refrigerator that I made for you. Go eat some dinner."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I must stay with your brother," their Sensei told him. "I will eat later. Thank you."  
  
The three boys left, and Splinter turned his full attention to his sick son.  
  
Several minutes later, one of the boys reappeared in the doorway. He held two sandwiches in his tiny hands. Splinter did not have to turn around to know who it was.  
  
"Michelangelo," said the wise rat, "Why are you not eating with your brothers?"  
  
"I didn't wanna leave him, Sensei," his youngest son replied. "I made you a sandwich, too. Can I eat in here, with you?"  
  
Normally, Splinter did not allow his sons to eat anywhere except the kitchen or, on occasion, in the living room, but seeing his son's eyes, small and sad and afraid, he sighed. Michelangelo was always the caring one, the giver, the nursemaid. Even in his young age, even amongst his childish silliness, the motivation to make everything right for his family was always there.  
  
"Yes," said Splinter. "You may. Try to be neat, however," he knew it was a helpless ploy and crumbs would wind up everywhere, but it was worth a try. Michelangelo brightened immediately and nodded. The two of them ate in silence.  
  
The sleeping turtle shifted and tossed and moaned, but did not wake_.  
  
SIX YEARS LATER  
  
Michelangelo paused for a moment, allowing a small cough to escape his lips. _Shell, it's cold in here,_ he thought. But Raph was quick with a sai, and he had to be quicker to block. He struck out with a nunchuck, relieved that his older brother hadn't noticed his small lapse. He had told his brothers, and his sensei, that he was not too sick to practice today, because while all of them (except Leo) grumbled about it, having to sit out for a day was really tough on the spirits.  
  
He didn't _feel_ sick; if it weren't for the stupid cough he'd had for the past couple days, he'd be fine. Mikey wasn't worried. Cold sewer air did a number on the lungs, but hadn't slowed him down too much.  
  
As he and Raph paused to regroup, Mikey coughed again. The urge to do so had been bugging him for a while, but he was afraid that if Splinter or Leo or even Donnie caught him weakening in the slightest, they'd freak out and send him to bed or something.  
  
However, none of the aforementioned three seemed to notice anything. It was Raph who, to Mikey's surprise, relaxed his stance.  
  
"Are you sure you're doin' okay, Mikey?" he asked.  
  
"M'allright," Mikey replied, trying in vain to stifle another cough. Talking made the urge too unbearable to supress. He dissolved into a coughing fit, well aware that the clashing sounds that were Leo and Don had stopped. Mikey took a deep breath and straightened. "I'm okay," he assured his family.  
  
Raph raised an eyeridge. "Yeah," he said dryly, "I noticed."  
  
"You sound awful," said Leo, placing a hand on his brother's shell. "You should take a break."  
  
"I'm really okay," said Mike. "I don't feel sick at all."  
  
"But your cough is slowing you down," said Splinter, approaching the four of them from the other room. "I have been watching you, my son, and you have been weaker today than you have these past couple of days. I fear that you have been working too hard, and if you push yourself much further, you could become very ill."  
  
"I've been worrying about that too, Mikey," said Don. "You may not feel sick now, but with too much exertion, you could come down with bronchitis or pneumonia. Remember what happened last time one of us ignored the signs of being sick? I certainly don't want to go through that again."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Me neither," said Leo quietly. When they were ten years old, Raphael had nearly died of pneumonia. It was the sickest any of them had ever been.  
  
"I'll second that," said Raph darkly. "Take it from me, Mikey, you don't wanna work yourself too hard here. It ain't fun."  
  
"But I'm not..."  
  
Splinter hushed him with a glare and took Mikey's chin in a furry paw. His wise eyes stared into his son's round ones for a very long minute.  
  
"It is as I suspected," their master finally said. He released Mike's chin, and the young turtle began to cough again. "You are sicker than you realize, my son. Try to rest before it becomes much worse. Practice is over for today," he told them all. "You may go."  
  
The night was warmer than the past few weeks had been, and clearer. The almost-full moon lit up the rooftops with a ghostly white light. Leo was glad that they'd opted to walk – or, rather, creep by way of the shadows – to and from April's rather than drive. It was nice to have the chance to do this after the long winter.  
  
_If only Mikey could see this,_ he thought._ He'd love it.  
_  
Splinter had refused, and Leo, Donnie and Raph had backed him up, to let Michelangelo out of the lair, especially at night when the air grew colder. The last thing they needed was a sick brother on their hands.  
  
"He'd have had a field day," said Don, practically reading Leo's mind. "All the paint... he can be a real artist when he wants to be. He'd be in his element."  
  
"Yeah," said Raph wryly, "But think of the mess he'd have made. The parts of her apartment that she _didn't_ want to repaint would've gotten splattered."  
  
"I thought Casey did a pretty good job of covering that one," said Leo. His brothers laughed. But Leo cut them off quickly, suddenly going very grave and staring into the distance.  
  
"What's the matter, Leo?" Raph taunted. "Spider senses tinglin'?" Leo ignored him. There was a long silence. "There's nothing there. C'mon, I'm starvin.' Can we just go already?"  
  
After another tense pause, Leo nodded, and they kept on.  
  
The man with the camera on the neighboring roof ducked when the three... whatever they were... stopped. They were very good with stealth, that was for certain. It had taken him months just to get a decent picture. And he could have sworn there were four... but their abilities with the shadows could have made it easy to miscount.  
  
He smiled, lowered his camera and went downstairs.

* * *

** PART 2**

* * *

_"Hey, Mikey," said a small, hoarse voice. Michelangelo jumped a mile and hastily scrambled to cover up what he'd been drawing. He shoved the paper under the couch and threw all the markers back in the box. "Wacha doin'?"  
  
"Nothin'," Mikey replied. Raph smirked, unconvinced. "Just... colorin'. I wasn't making you a card or anything. Wanna watch TV?"  
  
Raph smiled. "What would you want to make me a card for? I'm not sick."  
  
"Sensei says you are."  
  
Raph coughed, then scowled. "Well, I'm not. I don't get sick."  
  
Leo would have argued him to the death that he was no better than the rest of them, Donnie would have launched into an explanation about how because of the ooze, they were just as susceptible to illness as normal human kids, and Splinter would have lectured his son (not for the first time) on the importance of not becoming too arrogant. But Mikey shrugged, grinned amicably and picked up the remote.  
  
"Hey!" he cried. "The Goonies is on!"  
  
The Goonies was probably the only movie that all four boys could agree on. Even Sensei enjoyed watching it from time to time. It wasn't long before Leo, Don and Splinter (who insisted to a glowering Raph that he wear a blanket) had joined them.__

* * *

_Raph smiled fondly at the memory as the flipped through the channels and lo, and behold, found that their childhood favorite was on again. It had been so long since they'd watched this...  
  
"Hey, Mikey," he called. "Guess what's on."  
  
Michelangelo, wearing a quilt over his shoulders – it was still freezing in here – entered the living room. "What?"  
  
"Take a look."  
  
Mike's face burst into a grin when he recognized the chubby face of the boy on the screen. "I smell ice cream," he and Chunky said in perfect unison. Raph grinned.  
  
"Wanna watch for old times' sake?" he asked.  
  
"Why, Raphael?" said Mikey mockingly. "Are you becoming sentimental? Goin soft in your old age?"  
  
"Old age, my shell. I couldn't even buy porn if I were human. And no, I'm not goin' soft."  
  
"Yes, you are!" Mike exclaimed. Glee filled his voice. "You're goin' all sweet on us, Raphy!"  
  
"What's Raph doing this time?" asked Leo as he and Don came into the room.  
  
"Hey," Don cried. "Is that...?"  
  
"Yep," Raph replied, hoping to avoid answering Leo's question. He had a reputation to keep. "I was just flippin' through, and I saw it." Mikey coughed.  
  
"Geez," said Don. "It's been years..."  
  
"Wanna watch it?" asked Mikey.  
  
Leo and Donnie looked at each other.  
  
"Why not?"

* * *

_Mikey's eyes were glowing at the end of the movie. "Someday," he declared, "I wanna go find treasure just like the other Mikey. Then I'd be so rich, that no one would care that I'm a turtle and I could become a pirate and bury all my gold and..."  
  
Splinter, though smiling at his youngest son, hushed him. He pointed to a sleeping Raphael.  
  
"I do not wish to wake him," he explained. "Your brother is sick, and needs his rest."  
  
"He says he's not," said Mikey. "He told me he doesn't get sick."  
  
"That's stupid," said Leo. "He's no better than the rest of us. We all get sick."  
  
"The ooze that mutated us gave us a lot of human like qualities," said Don. "That's why we can have fevers, even though we're cold blooded, and we are just as susceptible to diseases as any one else is."  
  
"Arrogance is not a virtue, my sons," said Splinter. "Now, all of you get ready for bed."  
  
Mikey touched his brother on his cheek. "Mas'er Splin'er?" he said. "His face is hot."  
  
"I'm sure it is, Michelangelo," said their Sensei. "He is running a fever."_

_  
"He'll get better, right?"  
  
"Yes, with the proper rest. He will not want to admit that he is ill, but he will need to learn to take proper care of himself if he is to get well."  
  
"He's doomed," muttered Leo.  
  
"Leonardo," said Splinter. "I do not appreciate that kind of talk."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Now all of you, it is time for bed."  
_

* * *

"Wow," said Don as the credits began to roll. "Now, there's a trip down memory lane."  
  
"Tell me 'bout it," said Raph. "That movie's gotta be... how old?"  
  
"Decades. I think it came out in the eighties..."  
  
"Classic," Raph muttered, shaking his head. "Such a classic. Don't ya think so, Mikey?" He looked at his little brother. "Mikey?"  
  
Michelangelo had fallen asleep on the couch, his head drooping over the armrest and his arms holding the blanket tightly around him. He was snoring quietly.  
  
"He fell asleep watching The _Goonies_?" said Leo. "I thought he loved that movie."  
  
"He's exhausted," said Donatello. He stood up. "Poor guy. Coughing like that all day took a lot out of him. It tires you out." He placed a three- fingered hand on Mikey's forehead and let a breath escape through his teeth. "Aw, man," he said. "I was afraid of this."  
  
"What?" asked Leo and Raph at the same time.  
  
Donnie sighed. "Often before a fever, especially with us, because we're cold-blooded and don't maintain an internal temperature independent of our environment, the body feels cold, even though the air may not be. So the person (or mutated being) will use a blanket or other insulator to warm up. In the process, the body heat rises to an abnormal level."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"So..." said Leo. "He has a fever?"  
  
"Yeah," Don replied. "He's sicker than he thought."  
  
"We should wake him up, then. He needs to get to bed."  
  
Leo, Don and Raph had to shake their brother and say his name loudly before Michelangelo would stir. He groaned, blinked and started to cough. All three of his brothers cringed at the harshness of its sound.  
  
"Geez, Mikey," said Raphael. "You sound awful."  
  
Mike shifted uncomfortably. "Love you too, bro," he muttered.  
  
"Come on, Mikey," said Leo. "You need to get to bed."  
  
"Did I miss the movie?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Aw, _man_..."  
  
"Don't worry about it," said Don gently. "We'll get April to rent it for us sometime. Right now you need your rest."  
  
"Did I sound that bad?" Raph asked Leo in an undertone as Donnie led their sick brother to his room.  
  
Leo shook his head grimly. "Worse," he said. "Much, much worse." 


	2. Part 3

**DISCLAIMER: **I'm lazy. See the first chapter.

The gray-haired man looked down his long nose through his spectacles at the small array of photographs on his desk. He nodded in approval.  
  
"Very nice work, Miller," he said, his deep British voice sounding grim but pleased. "A small error in counting means nothing to me. Three of these... whatever you call them... will gain me... us, "he said quickly, "because of course you deserve a share in whatever we earn..." Miller smiled and nodded. "Three will earn us just as much as four could have. The importance is in the discovery itself. You will, I presume, opt to stay on as my photographer?"  
  
Miller touched his cap and bowed. "Of course I will, sir," he said in an accent that was, if anything, even thicker. "Wouldn't want'a miss it for the world."  
  
"Wise lad," said the man. "Lord knows I do not have the eye for professional photography that you posess. And you, Miss Cartagan?" he gave an expectant look to the young woman standing behind him.  
  
"It's _Doctor_ Cartagan," she corrected him in a curt American accent.  
  
"Yes, yes, of course," the man replied. "My mistake. How silly of me. We will, of course, need your _Doctor's_ expertise in further researching these... these..."  
  
"They look to me to be reptiles, sir. Or amphibians. But I'm leaning towards reptilian."  
  
"Right. It's too bad only one of them is in the light. I should wonder if all three are that same shade of green."  
  
"Me apologies for not being able to capture more of them in the moonlight, Sir Ratcliph," said Miller, bowing again. "Stealthy creatures, these ones are. It took me a month just to get a decent photograph of one of them."  
  
"I understand. And," he turned to Cartagan again, "The blue? There, around his eyes? Is that a trick of the light, or is part of his skin actually that color?"  
  
"Neither, sir," Cartagan replied. "I believe that that is a piece of cloth. See the loose piece there behind his head? It looks like something he tied around his face."  
  
"I can account for that, sir," Miller added. "The other two had 'em too. Couldn't make out the colors, but you can see bits of them blowing about in the shadows. The silhouettes are a bit difficult to decipher in places, but they appear to be all the same shape."  
  
"And those... around his belt?"  
  
"I believe those are..." Cartagan furrowed her brow and bent to look closer, "Swords, sir."  
  
"Curious," said Sir Ratcliph. "Very curious. I should like to learn more about these strange reptilian creatures. Mr. Miller, you will continue your rounds, gathering as many photographs as you can. Dr. Cartagan, you will accompany him, taking notes on their behavior. Do not make contact with them, but, if you can, try to follow them to see where they go. If we can find where they live, we should be able to capture them more easily. Understood?"  
  
Cartagan and Miller nodded.  
  
"Very well," said Sir Ratcliph. "You are excused."

* * *

"Hey, Mikey," said Donatello, entering the kitchen. "You're up."  
  
Mikey gave his older brother a weak smile. "I got bored," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "and hungry."  
  
"Even your comic books got old? Wow," Don raised his eyeridges, "That's a first."  
  
"I dunno... I just didn't feel like readin' them. Not when I'm stuck in bed all day. And, like I said, I'm hungry."  
  
"Careful what you eat though," Donnie advised him, "I get the feeling chocolate-chip pizza isn't the best thing for you right now."  
  
"I know, bro," said Mikey, pulling out a can of Chicken noodle soup, "I know. We're takin' it easy today."  
  
"Good." Donnie smiled, satisfied. But his face quickly turned to concern when Mikey started to cough. "Geez," he said, "That doesn't sound any better." Michelangelo shook his head.  
  
"Doesn't feel too great either."  
  
"Maybe you should sit down and let me do that..." said Donatello. Mikey gave him a skeptical look. "Oh, come on. I open the can, pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. Even I can handle that."  
  
"This from the guy who boiled pasta so long it became macaroni broth..."  
  
"I'll be fine," said Don, exasperated. "It's all technology, right? Give me a little credit here."  
  
Mikey gave him a jokingly nervous look, but was actually relieved for the chance to sit down. He leaned his head on his hand, not noticing the look of concern that his brother gave him.  
  
"So," he asked, "How's the painting coming?"  
  
"Great," said April, entering the kitchen. Mikey's face lit up. "We're almost finished, but don't worry. I'm saving a spot just for you to do whatever you want with as soon as you're feeling better."  
  
"Really? Like, whatever I want?"  
  
"Yeah..." after catching sight of Mikey's ecstatic expression, she said, "Within reason. Have fun, but keep it... you know..."  
  
"Aw, come on, April," said Mikey, "It's me."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of."  
  
Donnie laughed.  
  
"I told her it was a bad idea," said Raph as he sat down next to Michelangelo. "Who knows what you'll get up to... but she wouldn't come off it."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
April, Don and Raph exchanged grins. "The ceiling of the living room," she told him.  
  
"No way!" Mikey cried. "The _ceiling?"_ April nodded.  
  
"The other Michelangelo did it, didn't he? I thought you'd like it."  
  
"Awesome! Thanks, April! You're the best! The ceiling! The whole thing is mine? That is just so aws-" a sudden coughing fit cut off his burst of excitement.  
  
Raphael patted his brother on his shell. "Careful, Mikey," he said. "Don't hurt youself."  
  
Mikey's cough lasted for almost a minute, during which it became deep and painful. Donatello placed a glass of water in front of him.  
  
"Take it easy, bro," he said as Michelangelo took a long drink. "The soup will be ready in a second."  
  
April and Raph gave Mikey incredulous looks as Don returned to the kitchen. "You're letting him cook?"  
  
"Hey, I heard that!" Don came back with a steaming bowl. "It came out just fine, thank you."  
  
"Wow," said Raph in approval. "It actually looks edible."  
  
"Smells it, too," April commented.  
  
"It's from a can," Mikey told them.  
  
"Oh."

* * *

_The door to Raphael's bedroom opened slowly. The boy in bed turned his head and squinted at the sudden light. A small figure, opening the door with his foot and carrying something in his two hands, stood silhouetted in the light.  
  
"I made you soup," said Mikey's small voice. "Are ya hungry?"  
  
Raph wasn't, but he smiled weakly. His family had been taking such good care of him since he woke up that he felt bad refusing his little brother now. The fact that he'd almost died had shaken everyone, but especially Mike. The poor kid almost never left his side now.  
  
"It's Cam-buls," Michelangelo explained, setting the bowl carefully on Raph's bedside table. A little sloshed up the sides; it looked as though some had already spilled on the trip from the kitchen to the bedroom. "Sensei hadda help me with the can opener, but I heated it up by myself."  
  
Raphael smiled. "Thanks, Mikey," he rasped.  
  
"Mas'er Splin'er says you shouldn't talk yet," Mikey replied. "Not 'till you're better-er. Here," he held a spoonful of hot chicken broth to his brother's mouth, "eat."  
  
Raph was still too weak to protest this baby's treatment. He opened his mouth. It tasted pretty good; maybe he was a little hungry after all.  
  
Splinter, standing unnoticed in the doorway, smiled. The soup stains on the carpet could be taken care of later; it was worth knowing his son was going to be okay and that the bond between brothers had strengthened.  
  
It wasn't until Raphael had fallen back asleep and Mikey stood up that Sensei left the doorway. _


	3. Part 4

**A/N:** You guys rock. Seriously. Having people enjoy this, and review telling me so... is just about the coolest thing ever. It really motivates me. So thanks. You all rule. (Oh, and Rene, thanks a million for the long reviews, and I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'm not sure how healthy it is to stop breathing between updates. I promise you, they will come.)

* * *

Despite the post-winter cold, Raphael kept his bedroom door open that night, and the light from the bathroom, plus the unmistakable sounds of someone getting sick, jolted him awake. He blinked a couple times to drive the sleep from his eyes, then sat up. There was a short silence, followed by another round of coughing and retching.  
  
"Oh, Mikey," he sighed, rolling out of bed and wondering if this really surprised him. Sensei had warned them all that this would most likely get worse before it got better.  
  
In his rush to make it to the toilet, Michelangelo had forgotten to shut the bathroom door. Raph stood in the entry, hand on the doorframe, watching his youngest brother's hunched form tremble as he bent over the toilet bowl. Silently, he made his way to the sink and filled a stray cup with cold water. Mikey didn't even look up.  
  
When he had finished, Michelangelo closed his eyes, panting, and rested his head against the rim of the toilet. Raph knelt down in front of him.  
  
"Here," he said, offering the cup, "you don't hafta drink this, but swish it around and spit it out. It gets the taste out of your mouth."  
  
Mikey obeyed. He flushed the toilet, opened his eyes and immediately dissolved into another coughing fit. Raph winced; the poor guy sounded worse than ever.  
  
"How's his fever?"  
  
Raph looked up. Don and Leo were standing in the doorway, looking wary but concerned. Neither of them wanted to get too close to where Mikey had been vomiting, that much was clear. Leave it to Don to get squeamish even now.  
  
"It's all right," he assured them with a sly smirk, "it all made it into the toilet." Ignoring his brothers' glares, he placed a hand on Michelangelo's forehead, then drew back. "Geez, Mikey," he said, "You're burning up."  
  
"That's what I figured," said Don. He found a thermometer and knelt down next to his brothers. "Usually a high fever will cause vomiting, especially in those who are prone to... to having a weak stomach," Even if he didn't have a thermometer in his mouth, Mikey would have been too tired to respond to this. "When the body gets this warm, the stomach will reject anything you try to put in it." Don glanced at the numbers on the screen after the thermometer beeped. He frowned. "Ouch."  
  
Leo, meanwhile, was pulling a washcloth out of the cupboard, but Raph stopped him. "I have a better idea," he told him. "Sensei used to do this for me when I was sick." He untied Mikey's headband – the young turtle didn't protest – and soaked it in cold water. He wrung it out, told Mikey to close his eyes, and tied it back on. "Ya gotta be careful not to let it drip into your eyes," he warned him, "But it feels really good." Michelangelo nodded.  
  
"We should get him back to bed, even if he can't open his eyes," said Leo. "He needs his rest." His brothers nodded.  
  
"M'tired," Mikey muttered in a voice so hoarse that the others cringed. He started to cough again.  
  
"Careful, Mikey," said Don as he and Raphael helped their sick brother to his feet. "You shouldn't try to talk. Save your voice, and your breath."  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Leo asked as Raph began to lead Michelangelo to his room. Donnie sighed.  
  
"I can't know for certain yet, not until I really listen to him. But Master Splinter and I both think he has pneumonia."  
  
"I was afraid of that."  
  
"It's been at the back of my mind since he first developed that cough. Just cross your fingers he has the bacterial form, like Raph did. One of us sick is hard enough."  
  
"I should warn Raph," Leo started forward, "If Mikey's contagious..."  
  
"I think if he were, one of us would at least have developed a cough or some sort of symptoms by now. And for it to be viral, he would have had to be in contact with another person carrying it. And none of us have. I think we can count on this being the same ordeal we went through with Raphael."  
  
Leo gave his brother a dark look. "Somehow, that's not very comforting."  
  
"I don't mean like that."  
  
"Are you sure it isn't contagious? Because I don't want any more of us to get sick, and if there's a chance this could be a virus, one of us should warn Raphael before it's too late."  
  
"I doubt he'd listen to you. You know him."  
  
"Yes," Leo sighed, "I do."  
  
"One would think," Donatello commented. "He'd have learned his lesson after what happened six years ago."  
  
"I think he did. He's still stubborn as a mule, but if he got sick again, he'd be smarter about it. He wouldn't try to pull what he did back then. And he certainly won't let Mikey run off on us."  
  
The two brothers stood in silence for a moment.  
  
"Enough of that," said Leo. "We should turn in, too."  
  
Donnie nodded.

* * *

_A tiny green hand held the screwdriver steady. He tried not to listen to the repulsive vomiting noises coming from the other room and concentrated on putting the finishing touches on his remote-control car. He was planning on trying it out as soon as it was done; Leo had agreed to go with him. Later that day, the two boys would return to the lair, dripping wet and gasping for breath, without the car, but for now Leo was practicing and Don was forced to listen to the sounds of Raphael getting sick in the bathroom.  
  
Donatello breathed a sigh of relief when the noises stopped for good and the bathroom door opened. He heard Splinter's gentle voice, followed by Mikey's small one, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Soon the door to the boys' room opened and shut, and Mikey approached the couch with wide eyes.  
  
"Raph's sick," he informed his brother.  
  
"I know," said Donnie. "I could hear it."  
  
"Mas'er Splin'er says he has moo... new – moo-non... new-mony..."  
  
"Pneumonia?"  
  
"Yeah, that." Michelangelo pulled a box of markers and the card he had been working on out from under the couch. "What is moo-nony-a?" he asked.  
  
"Pneumonia," Don corrected him. "It's when the inside of your lungs gets irritated – that means sore – and sometimes swell up real bad. It's characterized by a high fever and a bad cough."  
  
Mikey's eyes were even wider. "Is that really bad?"  
  
"It can be. In some people, if not treated right, pneumonia can get really serious."  
  
"Could he..." Mike whispered, "... die?"  
  
"Some do." Mikey put down his marker, his tiny hands shaking and his lower lip starting to tremble. "But not Raph," said Donnie quickly, "He's too tough. And Sensei will take real good care of him. You'll see."  
  
"Really?" Michelangelo whispered, his eyes welling with tears. Don put down his car, sat on the floor next to his little brother and wrapped him in a hug. "Cuz I don't want him to die." A single tear made its way down Mikey's cheek.  
  
"He won't," Don assured him. "This case doesn't look severe enough; it has to get really bad for someone to die. He'll be okay. Especially because he has us around to take care of him. You and me and Sensei and Leo... we'll make sure he gets better. You're good at taking care of people, Mikey. Remember when I broke my leg? You helped me a lot, and I'm sure you'll do just as well with Raph. You'll see. He'll be better before you know it."  
  
If Don had been unsure about anything he'd said, his little brother would have seen right through it. Donatello was not very good at hiding things from others, and Mikey was more insightful when it came to his family than people (term used loosely, of course) gave him credit for. But Donnie believed every word, so Michelangelo did too. He smiled, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Thanks, Donnie," he whispered.  
  
"Anytime."  
  
The two boys broke and went back to work._

* * *

Mr. Miller removed his cap upon entering Sir Ratcliph's office. He bowed once and approached the desk.  
  
"Have you any more photographs for me?" the older man asked.  
  
"Only two, sir," Miller replied, "And they're not very good ones, I'm afraid. But I 'ave somethin' else that I think might be of use to ye."  
  
Ratcliph rested his chin on his fingers, looking mildly interested. "Yes?" he said, "And what might that be?"  
  
The first photograph was so dark, that making out the three green figures was extremely difficult. The fourth figure, a woman with dark red hair, stood out more clearly. She and the others seemed to be entering a warehouse of some sort. It was the piece of paper that Miller believed would serve his boss well. On it were two addresses written in messy cursive.  
  
"The first is where I found that warehouse," Miller explained. "Those green things never came out. The second," he slapped a picture of an apartment building on the table, "is this place."  
  
"Oh?" said Sir Ratcliph.  
  
Miller gave him a sinister smile, "It's where _she_ lives, sir."  
  
"She..." Ratcliph took a closer look at the woman in the photograph. He had never seen her before. "Do we have identifications for her?"  
  
"No, sir," replied Miller. "Nor her apartment number."  
  
Ratcliph thought for a moment. "Quite all right," he said. "You have done well, Mr. Miller. I am exceedingly thankful to have you on board."  
  
"Me pleasure, sir."  
  
"I dare say we can make our move soon. Tonight, if possible. Dr. Cartagan regrets that she must work late tonight, but I think we will be able to manage without her. This is not woman's work. She will become useful later, but for now I think you and your friends can do the job, am I correct?"  
  
Miller nodded.  
  
"Good. Have some of you watching that warehouse around the clock, and some of you watching all entrances to the apartment complex. Contact me only after you have the... results."  
  
Miller nodded again. "Sure thing, sir."  
  
"Thank you. You are excused."


	4. Part 5

**A/N:** Just to clarify a few things for a few people:  
  
**Pretender Fanatic:** Yes, it was long enough. . Thanks, but no need to stress. Your enthusiasm is heartwarming. To answer your question, in the flashbacks, they're ten, not five. I thought I said they were, but maybe I messed that up. I meant to say ten, because I said "six years ago" assuming that they were all sixteen now... oops. I'll hafta re-check that but they were definitely ten.  
  
(Kudos by the way to anyone who got the reference to "Tales of Leo" with the whole car thing. I just thought that would be funny.)  
  
**Rene:** Good to know you're breathing again. Cliffhangers are fun for the author, but not the reader... been there done that and it's really stressful. And in the new show, that warehouse is the place where that weird elevator thing that goes into the new lair (they discovered it in one of the first eps) opens up. And no, I don't have the 'hit list.' Just got a painful speeding ticket (my first ever!) so prolly won't be spending unnecessary money any time soon. But thanks for the info.

* * *

A small chorus of "hey"s greeted April when she entered the lair. She waved to the guys and, noticing that there were only three, furrowed her brow.  
  
"Where's Mikey?" she asked. The turtles exchanged glances.  
  
"He's in bed," Leonardo told her. "He... got sick last night."  
  
"Poor guy," April murmured. "Well, I brought these," she held out a bag of cough drops, "for him. I hope they help."  
  
"Thanks, April," said Don, surprised. "You didn't have to do that."  
  
"I wanted to," she replied. "You guys have done so much for me, that I just want to help. He's going to be okay, isn't he?"  
  
"I think so," said Donnie. "He's got pneumonia, but..."  
  
"Pneumonia?" April gasped. "Guys, that's... that's bad."  
  
"We know," said Leo and Raph together.  
  
"We've dealt with pneumonia before," Donatello explained. "We're taking good care of him."  
  
"But still..." April didn't look convinced. "I'm not sure the cold sewers are the best place for him. If he's that sick..."  
  
"I was sicker than him when I got it," said Raph. "And I'm okay."  
  
"In what sense?" Leo muttered. Raph glared. Don and April rolled their eyes.  
  
"Still..." April thought for a moment. "This kind of of air... damp and cold and, no offense, kinda smelly... isn't the best thing for a sick person, especially with pneumonia."  
  
"Well, waddya suggest we do?" Raph demanded. "Take him to a hospital?"  
  
April shook her head. "I know you can't do that," she said. "But maybe... he could come stay with me. It's at least a little warmer in my apartment, he could stay there until he gets better."  
  
"I don't know, April," said Leo. "He's pretty sick. We couldn't ask you to take care of him."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
"And what about the paint?" asked Don. "The fumes from that won't be very good for him."  
  
"They're mostly dry," said April. "I can keep the doors to the bedroom and den closed, and I can have their windows open and fans set up in them... they're so dry by now that you won't even notice the smell anyway. He can sleep in my living room."  
  
"It would be better than him breathing the air down here," Donnie admitted. But the three brothers still looked uneasy. April smiled.  
  
"I'll take good care of him," she assured them. "And you can come be with him whenever you want."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"I think it is a very wise idea."  
  
All four of them turned around to see Splinter shutting the door to Mikey's room.  
  
He nodded to April, "Thank you, Miss O'Neil, for your offer. It is true that the air down here is not helping his illness. It is very kind of you to offer to care for him."  
  
"Anytime," she said. "I only wish there was more I could do."  
  
"How's he doing, Sensei?" asked Donatello.  
  
Splinter sighed. "Michelangelo is very ill. His fever is very high. I can only hope that this is the worst of it." He looked at April. "As he has just fallen asleep, I do not believe that it would not be wise to try and move him now. He needs his rest."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"The best time to move him would be at night," said Leo.  
  
Splinter nodded. "Then we leave after sundown."  
  
The others agreed.

* * *

_Raphael was frowning in his slumber. His bandana, soaked in cool water, stuck to his forehead and left wet marks on his pillow as he shifted and turned in his sleep. Michelangelo was very cautious, almost silent, as he approached the bedside. As quietly as he could, he climbed into the chair next to the bed.  
  
"Sensei wan'ed me to bring you this," he whispered, setting a fresh mug of tea wrapped in a thick cloth on the bedside table. "He says it'll make you feel better."_  
  
Mikey's usually chipper face was pulled into an unnatural frown. Water dripped from his wet headband, forming tiny streams down his cheeks. Raphael was very careful not to make a sound as he slipped into the room and sat down next to his sick brother.  
  
"April brought you these," he whispered, setting the bag of cough drops on the bedside table. "It'll help with your cough, at least."  
  
_Mikey tensed as Raph stirred and groaned. He kept very still, hoping that he hadn't awoken him. Sensei would be very angry if he did. But Raph's harsh breathing remained even; he once again settled into his slumber. His tiny face was still pained.  
  
"Does it hurt?" Mikey whispered._  
  
Michelangelo began to stir, and Raph froze. He didn't mean to wake him up. Mikey's soft, hoarse groans, raspy enough to make him cringe, jolted some painful memories that Raphael would rather repress.  
  
"It hurts, Mikey," he murmured, "I know it does. It ain't fun. But you'll pull through."  
  
After a few long moments, Mikey relaxed and again slipped into sleep.

* * *

"Hang in there Mikey," said April. "We're almost there."  
  
The truck wasn't particularly cold, but it wasn't warm either. Michelangelo was wrapped tightly in a blanket, with Splinter and Raphael on either side of him. He was leaning against the inside wall, silent save for violent coughing fits, his listless eyes staring at the floor.  
  
"How's he doing?" asked Leo from the passenger's seat.  
  
"He'll be all right," April told Leo and Don. "But the sooner we get to my place, the better." She bit her lip. If it had been anyone else she knew, she would have told him to see a doctor straight away. Mikey clearly needed one. But who could they go to? Of the people who knew them, she and Donatello were the closest to doctors they had. But neither had access to medicine. April knew that the best thing for Mikey right now would be an antibiotic, but without a prescription, she couldn't get one. They couldn't very well bring Michelangelo into a doctor's office.  
  
That brought her to another worry; would the turtles fair better with a human doctor or with a vet? April had a friend from college who was a veterinarian, one of her closer friends who, if anyone, April felt she could have trusted. If the emergency came up, she could certainly rely on Jeanie Cartagan for help. But... would Jeanie know what to do for them? They had the anatomy of creatures with which vets were used to dealing, but they could speak. Some of their human-like qualities might put them out of a vet's league. They didn't really fit in for either. Plus, April knew that with that second job, whatever it was, that Jeanie had recently taken up, she didn't have a lot of time on her hands. No, contacting her unless Mikey got even sicker than he was now was not a good idea. And she certainly wouldn't do it without the boys' consent.  
  
All four looked up when the truck came to a stop. Leo and Raph helped Mikey out of the back, while April approached the back door of the building with her key and an alert eye and Splinter climbed into the front seat with his son.  
  
"What is the matter, Donatello?" he asked. Don was listening to his shell cell, looking concerned.  
  
"It's Casey," he said. "He says there's something wrong back at the lair. He's outside the warehouse, probably came looking for Raph or something, and he says... we should probably come see this."  
  
"Aw, geez," said Raph, "Knowing him its probably some kid with a pet rat, and he's just making an excuse to hang around at the lair all night."  
  
"He says he heard that," Donnie told him. "And it's not. It's a bunch of guys with weapons – and cameras."  
  
"Cameras?" Leo almost laughed.  
  
"Oooh," said Raph. "Real scary. I'm shakin' in my shell."  
  
"Pointed at the warehouse," Don said. The meaning of this sank in, and the two brothers shut up. "They're watching it."  
  
"Oh," said Raph. "That ain't good."  
  
"We can't all go back," said Leo. "Some of us need to help Mikey get settled in." He thought for a moment. "You two go back and help Casey. Raph and I will help get Mikey to April's apartment, then come back and help."  
  
Donnie nodded.  
  
The truck sped off into the darkness, revealing the strange green things – Mr. Miller's heart jumped – and the same red haired woman standing in the alley. He signaled for the others to come forward, guns and swords and clubs at the ready. Silently, he set his camera on the seat of his van; he didn't want it hurt amidst the fighting.  
  
Two of these creatures seemed to be supporting the third. They set him down carefully on the steps of the building. Now this was helpful. Mr. Miller smiled. He and the group of men with him jumped out of the van. The creature with the blue headband – who, they had been warned, carried the swords – put a hand on the other standing one's arm. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.  
  
_So they can talk,_ Miller thought. _Interesting.  
_  
"What?" the other one asked. The pale moonlight reflected off his red band.  
  
The blue one waved his arm, telling the woman to be still, and they listened carefully. Miller and company were careful to keep silent.  
  
The one on the steps (his headband was orange) started to cough. Red and the woman turned to him immediately, but Blue was keeping his eyes and ears strained. He probably wouldn't have been able to hear anything over the sounds his sick – brother? parent? offspring? friend? – was making.  
  
"Leo," said Red. "We gotta get Mikey inside. The cold ain't doin' him any favors."  
  
Blue (or "Leo") looked at them; by now Orange ("Mikey") was panting, one hand (Miller noted that it had three fingers) on his chest. He clutched the blanket over his shoulders. Leo knelt in front of him and placed a three-fingered hand on his forehead.  
  
_He's still burning up,_ Leonardo thought, his leader's protective instinct kicking in. Raph was right, they had to get Mikey inside. It was his job to take care of his brothers when they couldn't protect themselves. Splinter had entrusted him with that duty six years ago.  
  
_"Leonardo. You must keep an eye on your brothers while I search for Raphael. I will return, but I do not know how soon. It is your responsibility to make sure Donatello and Michelangelo stay safe until I return. Keep them safe, keep them warm, keep them inside. You are the oldest. This is a heavy responsibility for someone your age, but I trust you."  
_  
_"Yes, Master Splinter. I'm sorry I let him go. I didn't see him – "  
  
"That is not your fault, my son. Do not think upon it. Focus on the task at hand."  
  
"Yes Master Splinter."_  
  
"Freeze."  
  
All four of them looked up. A man in black clothing stood pointing a gun at them.  
  
"No one move," he said in a gruff, thick New York accent, "Unless I say so. You," he looked at Leonardo, "You carry swords. Take 'em out and drop 'em on the ground where I can see 'em."  
  
Leo could hear Raph growling behind him, and held out a hand to keep his brother still. He and Raphael could easily have dodged a shot, but Mikey was in no state to move that quickly and none of them wanted anything to happen to April. Slowly, clenching his teeth and forcing back his frustration, Leonardo placed two hands on his katanas.  
  
Suddenly, before any of them could blink, Raphael let out a loud, angry cry, and the man landed on his back with his gun, pierced by a sai, several feet away and a green foot in the middle of his chest. Leonardo tightened his grip on his swords, though now without the intention of throwing them down.  
  
Two sets of eyes grew angry, but determined, when more men in the same black outfits appeared out of the shadows. Fighting broke out immediately.  
  
"April!" Leo cried. "Get Mikey inside. We'll hold them off and meet you."  
  
"Okay." April was thankful that Michelangelo, unlike some of his brothers, had the sense to know when he was too weak to be able to help his brothers. Donatello would have; Leo would have known but refused to run away regardless; and Raphael simply wouldn't have cared either way. He leaned on her arm as she led him in the back door.  
  
"April! Mikey!" cried Raph, "Watch out!"  
  
The two of them turned around just in time to see a dark, hooded man come running up the front steps. He sent April to the ground in one angry shove and held a club in the air, ready to strike. April closed her eyes, as there was no place to roll out of the way, and held up her arms in defense.  
  
She never felt a blow. She opened her eyes and found that a pair of trembling green hands holding a very familiar pair of nunchucks had blocked the man's strike. A swift kick and he fell backward down the steps.  
  
_Oh, Mikey,_ April thought, _please be careful.  
_  
The blanket had fallen off his shoulders. He ignored the sharp pain that took over his chest every time he took a deep breath, ignored the fact that his aching joints protested movement, ignored the pain in his head and the prickly cold across his skin. No one messed with April without messing with them.  
  
"Stop!" cried a voice. It was rough, loud and strangely foreign sounding. A man who's hair lay hidden under a gray cap, with a dark jacket, black jeans and dirty skin pointed a pistol directly at Mikey's head. Everyone froze. "Sit down," said the man in a thick British accent. Michelangelo sat. "Stay where you are," he said to April, "One false move outa ye and your friend is 'istory. That goes for all of ye." Leo and Raph looked on with wide eyes. Even Raphael didn't dare move now. "Drop your weapons." The turtles obeyed. The man beckoned for several of the hooded men to help him. One took Mikey's nunchucks, and the others started to lead the youngest turtle into the shadows. "I mean it," said the man. "Any of ye move before I say so, and this one dies. I don't 'ave any qualms about killing 'im."  
  
Leo's eyes were wide. Rarely had he felt so helpless.  
  
_"Do you want some dinner, Mikey? I think we still have some left over, and theres a bunch of different stuff we could put on it."  
  
Michelangelo's small eyes were wide. "M'not hungry," he said.  
  
Leonardo pulled his younger brother into a hug. "Master Splinter will be back soon. You'll see. He knows the sewers better than any of us. He'll find Raph and be back before you know it."  
  
Mikey didn't say anything. Leo held him closer. He had pulled a blanket off his bed, and the three brothers huddled together underneath it, awaiting their Sensei's return. Long after the other two had dozed off, Leonardo was awake. He held his brothers in his ten-year old arms and watched the door, waiting.  
_  
He had been responsible for his brothers then, and a part of him still was today. That part of him was kicking poor Leonardo as he watched, empty- handed, the dark men taking his little brother away. Chasing the van even by the rooftops was no use; before long, it had disappeared over the bridge and out of sight.


	5. Part 6

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long. I had to graduate (high school for those who care) and do everything that goes with it. Been crazy the last couple days.  
  
Questions are good. Ask them. I don't mind, I rather enjoy answering them.  
  
**monica:** Leo didn't attack because if he'd moved, the creepy British guy would have shot Mikey in the head. Leo didn't really want that.   
  
**jordan:** Rarely rarely RARELY do I do character death. And if I do, I warn the readers from the very beginning that it's going to happen. Sorry if that ruins it for anyone else, but I _really_ don't like random major deaths. Rest assured.

* * *

_Practice with three turtles was no less effective than it was with four, but it never had the same excitement to it. Usually because the absence of the one – whatever the reason – hung over the heads of the remaining turtles. It simply wasn't right when all four brothers weren't together.  
  
Nevertheless, Donnie, Mikey and especially Leo agreed (a feat, to say the least) that Raphael was not going to join them today. They had all heard him throwing up last night; Splinter had told them he had a very high fever, and he looked as though about to collapse where he stood now. His tired eyes glared with a weak fierceness behind the red bandana. Drops of water from the cool cloth dripped down his cheeks. It was his cough that had grabbed his brothers attention; they turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, fumbling for a sai.  
  
"Raph?" Michelangelo asked, "Do you need something?"  
  
Raphael pulled his sai out all the way and pointed it at them. "Nope. Hope you didn't get too far without me." His voice was confident (he was doing his best to sound tough) but hoarse and quiet.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Raph," said Leo.  
  
"Stupid?" the sick turtle rounded on Leonardo angrily. "You callin' me stupid?"  
  
"Splinter says you can't practice today. You're too sick."  
  
"I'm not too sick for anything," said Raph. "Try me."  
  
Leo glared, but didn't move. Raphael started to cough. Mikey ran to get him a glass of water.  
  
"See? You're too sick to practice. Go back to bed."  
  
"Leo's right," said Don. "If you over exert yourself, you could get even worse. Severe pneumonia can kill."  
  
Mikey reentered with a full glass. "I don't want you to die," he said quietly, handing Raph the cool cup. Raphael took it but didn't drink, his glare softening at his youngest brother.  
  
"No worries, Mikey," he said. "I'll be okay. It's me, remember?"  
  
"Arrogance is not a virtue," said Leo, giving Raph the leader's glare that the younger turtle loathed.  
  
"Cut it out already," he snapped. "I'll fight ya if I wanna fight ya." He handed the glass of water to Mikey, who took it without thinking.  
  
"Raph," Donatello pleaded. "Don't."  
  
Raphael didn't listen. Letting out suprisingly loud cry for someone so hoarse, he took his sais and lunged at Leo. The older turtle blocked him so effortlessly that he neither changed expression nor moved his feet. He hid the fact that Raphael's lack of strength scared him well. His younger brother dropped his weapons, fell to the floor and dissolved into a fit of coughing.  
  
"Raph?" asked Don uncertainly. "Are you okay?"  
  
Mikey's eyes grew wide. He knelt down beside Raphael and set the glass of water next to them. All three boys looked scared.  
  
At last, the coughing subsided, and Raphael was left breathless on the floor. Mikey put his hand on his shell, but his sick brother pushed it away.  
  
"Don't touch me," he snapped. Mikey drew back. With a fierce glare, Raphael put away his sais and stomped off to his room.  
  
The boys resumed practice.  
_  
That same kind of anger coursed through his veins at the man in the cap pressed the pistol to Michelangelo's forehead. Raphael clenched his fists and teeth, searching through every possible way he could make this man die a painful death. Unfortunately, every one of them involved moving, and if he did that, Mikey was history.  
  
He chased that van with everything he had. Leo kept up with him, while April waited at the apartment. He ran until he couldn't run anymore, then kept going for a couple roofs after that. He only stopped, though the van had disappeared a while ago and it was pretty much aimless, when his knees gave out from exhaustion and he collapsed to the roof in the same way he had six years ago. Twice.  
  
_"My sons," said Splinter. "You have done well for today. I know you are worried about your brother, but I would recommend giving him some time to himself. His illness is making him angry, and Raphael does not channel his anger well."  
  
The boys nodded.  
  
"You are excused."  
  
As each of the three young turtles went off to do his own thing, Splinter went to check on his sick son. Raphael, from what the boys had told him, needed a talking to.  
  
He drew back in surprise when no small form squirmed on the bed at the sudden light. The room was empty. Splinter stepped back and looked around outside the room. No sign of him.  
  
Not wanting to alarm his sons, Splinter quietly and discreetly searched the lair. Raphael had vanished. The older rat looked at the door between the Lair and the rest of the sewer. It was slightly ajar._

Oh, Raphael, _he thought, his heart beginning to pound. _This time, your rash actions have taken you too far. _A sick ten-year old would not last long in the cold sewers. Splinter closed his eyes; if he lost one of his sons he didn't know what he would do._  
  
_"My sons," he called. "I need you to come here."  
  
The boys came.  
  
"Your brother," he informed them, "is not in his room. Nor is he in the rest of the lair." Their eyes grew wide. "I need you to tell me if any of you saw any sign of him between the time he attacked Leonardo and now, or if you have any idea where he could have gone." The boys shook their heads. "Very well. I must go look for him. Stay where you are, my sons, and do not leave this room until I return." Mikey and Don nodded, still looking scared, and sat on the couch. At his Sensei's beckon, Leo remained where he was.  
  
"Leonardo," said Splinter quietly. "You must keep an eye on your brothers while I search for Raphael. I will return, but I do not know how soon. It is your responsibility to make sure Donatello and Michelangelo stay safe until I return. Keep them safe, keep them warm, keep them inside. You are the oldest. This is a heavy responsibility for someone your age, but I trust you."  
  
"Yes, Master Splinter."  
_

* * *

When April and the two brothers arrived at the lair, having called and told everyone the news, they found a grim threesome surrounding an unconscious man (also wearing all black, with a camera on a strap around his neck) on the couch.  
  
"The others ran off," Don told them. "We'll question him when he wakes up."  
  
"How long will that take?" April asked.  
  
"A while, probably. Casey hit him pretty hard. But he'll be all right. It may take him a while to be able to tell us anything useful..."  
  
"I'll make it shorter," said Raph, his teeth clenched. "Scare him into it. Threaten him with – "  
  
"Actually," Donatello interrupted him, "That will probably make it longer."  
  
"I don't care!" Raph cried. "We gotta get him back. Whatever it takes. We're gunna get him back. He's sick. He can't hold his own very long out there. Being that sick... it does stuff to ya. I remember..." Raph trailed off, then shook his head. "We gotta find him!"  
  
"Raphael," said Splinter. "Please calm down. Losing your temper will not help find your brother now."  
  
Raph threw a sai. It stuck into the wall, cracking the area around it.  
  
"Easy, Raph," said Leo. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder, and the two met eyes. "We'll find him. Whatever it takes. We will."

* * *

"How is your progress, Doctor Cartagan?" asked Sir Ratcliph. Cartagan didn't look up from the computer screen. Her fingers pressed a few buttons, and the digital picture of a brain on the screen grew larger.  
  
"It's coming, sir," she replied. "Physical observations are mostly complete. I'm analyzing brain structure; if and when he wakes up I hope to perform psychological testing as well."  
  
"Very well. What conclusions have you drawn?"  
  
"That he is not completely unlike any animal I have ever seen."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"He appears to be... at least a mutated form of a turtle, sir. I couldn't tell you how it happened, but he has a shell on his back, with the same design that a child's pet turtle would have. The arms and legs are not proportioned to a normal turtle, he has three fingers on each hand, and the face and head are shaped somewhat like a human's, but whatever he is, he stems from the same family. Except..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Dr. Cartagan turned around in her chair. "I cannot for the life of me figure out whether or not he is cold-blooded. His body temperature responds to change in air, but not as much as most reptiles do. And... this is the strangest thing... he has a fever."  
  
"Mr. Miller informed me that he seemed ill, yes."  
  
"I heard that, but still... a turtle, having a fever... this is one very odd creature. He's almost... half-turtle-half-human. I can't explain it. Cross breeding is out of the question; physically it's impossible. I don't know how it happened. But, while we're on that, Sir, I need to talk to you..." her demeanor changed from professional to nervous. "About something... about ethics, sir... if this... turtle... really is a human in the psychological aspect... how much can we...?"  
  
Sir Ratcliph's expression suddenly grew cold. "Your area is in veterinary studies, Miss Cartagan–"  
  
"_Doctor_..."  
  
"Doctor, yes. That is why I hired you. I will take care of anyissues regarding morals. I am from England, _Doctor_, and will not be told what is ethical by an American. You will continue to do what I pay you to do, and I will take care of everything else."  
  
Dr. Jeanie Cartagan looked as though about to protest, but closed her mouth.  
  
"By the way," Sir Ratcliph set some photographs on the table. "These are some that Mr. Miller captured the other day. I do not know how much they will aid your work, but we did not want to leave you "out of the loop" as you would say."  
  
"Thank you sir," Cartagan said uneasily. As her boss shut the door behind him, she gently ended the scan she had been working on. A quick, cursory glance at the top photo turned into a shocked perusal. The woman with them... that was... that was... but it couldn't be...  
  
_April?  
_  
The sound of coughing from the other room interrupted her. Something was very wrong with this creature – outside his normal abnormality – that was for certain. What Sir Ratcliph was planning on doing with him was beyond her, but his health came first in her book, despite what he was. She would have to start testing for illness next.  
  
Jeanie Cartagan's fingers began to shake as she set the photograph back on the table. She entered the other room and, without thinking, took the three-fingered hand of the being on the table. The brain scans had shown him to be just as complex as the average human, the average adolescent human.  
  
_He's a kid,_ she thought, watching his face wince in pain,_ he's just a kid. What must it be like? Lost, alone, helpless and sick..._ The image of the two other turtles came to mind. _Are they looking for you? Are they family? Friends? Is she looking for you? _ The feeling that all of this was very wrong started to sit on Dr. Cartagan's shoulders. Her fingers stroked the orange band around his eyes; something had stopped her from taking it off during the tests, though she couldn't explain what. _What are we doing?_ she wondered, watching the young mutant's closed eyes drift in his sleep. _What have we done?  
_  
The turtle stirred, giving a hoarse groan. Dr. Cartagan closed her eyes.  
  
_What have we done?_


	6. Part 7

**JUST CUZ I HAVEN'T DISCLAIMED IN A WHILE: **I do not own the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles. Not sure who owns the original comics or the new series (which the characters in this story are based on) but I know_ it isn't me. _I'm writing about them because I like them a lot. I am not making any money off of this. No infringement is intended.

The strange man with the camera had short periods of wakefulness over the next couple of days, but he was not coherent through any of them. While Donatello and Master Splinter kept an eye on him, Leonardo, Raphael, Casey and April searched the streets for signs of Mikey.  
  
The only lead they could track was his Shell Cell, which showed up on the radar several blocks away from the bridge on the other side. They found it in a Dumpster behind a large, one-story building with a big, but empty square courtyard. They combed every inch of it and the surrounding area; every one of them searched at least once. There were people there, but no sign of their missing brother and son.  
  
Laughter had long since left the lair. It seemed Michelangelo had indeed been its source; it vanished when he did. The only focus now was combing the city or helping the injured cameraman wake up. Casey kept an eye around the warehouse for the men who had escaped, but no one came. They seemed to have what they came for.  
  
Leonardo expressed his worry to Donatello, three days after Mikey was taken, that when Raphael ran away as a kid, he had only been gone for four or five hours before Splinter found him. They all remember how sick he'd been when they got back. If Mikey had been gone for two days... how much longer could they hope?  
  
Donnie shrugged, weakly argued that they were much older now and Mikey may not necessarily have been lying in the sewers somewhere like Raph had been, and told his brother that they couldn't give up.  
  
A soft moan interrupted their conversation. Don and Leo rushed into the living room, where the man in black was sitting –yes, sitting – on the couch, holding the icepack that they had left for him to his head. His eyes widened when he saw them.  
  
"I-i-i-i-it's y-you!" he stammered, terrified. "D-d-don't hurt me, please! I wasn't a big p-part of this. I-I-I-I just helped t-take the p-pictures. I was paid! I'm not the leader here, I swear!"  
  
"Who was?" Leo demanded. "Who do you work for?"  
  
"Some British guy," the man replied, "He's a photographer, who worked for this other Brit, this rich guy I only saw once. I don't know much about this whole operation; I just take the pictures."  
  
"Not anymore, you don't," said Leo. "We took your camera."  
  
"You did?" the man cried. "Can I have it back? Please? Look, whoever you are, that wasn't mine. Miller'll kill me."  
  
"Miller?"  
  
"The photo guy who hired me. It was one of his. If he finds out I lost it, he..."  
  
"Won't do nearly as bad as we will if ya don't help us," said Raph from the doorway. His eyes, framed with red, were narrow with fury. The man grew even more terrified.  
  
"Don't hurt me!" he cried. "Please! I-I-I said I didn't have anything ta do with this, and I-I-I mean it! I-I-I-I-I just took pictures!" His last statement was a loud, but petrified squeak. He took a couple deep breaths. Damn, his head hurt. "What do you want from me?"  
  
"Where's our brother?" asked Leonardo.  
  
"What are you talking about?" said the man, pointing to Raph, "He's right there."  
  
"Not him," said Don. "Our other brother."  
  
The man's eyes grew wide. "You mean... th-there's more of you?"  
  
"Yeah. One of you guys took our brother the same night our friend found you. Any idea where he could have gone?"  
  
The man only stared, wide-eyed, at Leo. The blue one... there was something they had warned him about with the blue one... but what was it? His head hurt so bad... The blue one's eyes narrowed.  
  
"We're asking you a question," he said.  
  
"I-I-I dunno much," he said. "I just took pictures."  
  
"Tell us about that, then," said the one wearing purple, his voice calm. "Whatever you can."  
  
"I know that this rich Brit guy has been looking for you guys for a month or something... dunno how he found you but... he hired Miller to take photographs for proof. After he got a good picture, he hired us."  
  
"Who's us?" asked Blue.  
  
"Just a buncha guys who'll do stuff for money," he said. "I said I didn't wanna hurt nobody, and I'm no good at that stuff anyway, so he told me to watch this place and take pictures if I saw you."  
  
"Did you get any?"  
  
He shook his head. "The last thing I know, this creepy guy in a mask is behind us, the other guys were running and... then I'm here." He rubbed his forehead. What was it that they had told him about the Blue one? He knew had to beware, but he would have known that anyway. What was it?  
  
"So do you have any ideas where they could have taken him?" asked Purple.  
  
"I know the Rich Brit had some vet working for him, but I don't know much about that. Dunno where they would have taken him, but after the vet's done with him I think they're taking him to the Boss's place."  
  
The three brothers' eyes grew wide. "Done with him?" asked Blue. "What do you mean, 'done with him?'"  
  
"I dunno..." said the man, "Done... figgerin out what he is, I guess. Seeing if he can talk, an' what he is and stuff..."  
  
"Will he be alive when they're 'done with him'?" asked Purple.  
  
The man nodded. "I dunno that they'll off him," he said, "not till they get all of you, at least." He didn't dare hold anything back, not from these guys. Who knew what they could do to him if he tried?  
  
"Then he's safe," Red growled, "Cuz they ain't gunna get all of us. So where is this boss's place?"  
  
The man gulped. He'd been afraid of this part. If he told them, Miller would probably kill him. If he didn't tell them, these freaks would. He swore to himself, that if he somehow made it through this alive, it was country life for him from now on. Find some small-town chick in Vermont or something, settle down and be peaceful. How was a guy supposed to make a living and stay alive at the same time in New York? Everyone was out to kill each other. He tried to buy time buy groaning loudly and holding the ice pack to his head. It really did hurt; maybe it could gain him sympathy.  
  
It didn't.  
  
"Answer me!" Red cried, brandishing two dagger-things from his belt. The man yelped and drew back.  
  
"That's it!" he cried, pointing a finger at the blue one. "Swords! You've got swords!"  
  
Blue nodded. "How did you know that?"  
  
"Miller warned us." He looked warily from Red to Blue, then glanced at the purple one. He seemed the least angry, but who knew what crazy weapons he had? The man didn't want to find out. "I-I-I'll tell you, but ya gotta let me go if I do. I can't go back there, he'll kill me for talkin' to you."  
  
"We won't kill you for helping us find our brother," Blue assured him, with a glare at Red. Red didn't move. The man took a deep breath.  
  
"Okay," he said. "I'll tell ya what I know. He won't be there yet, it'll take a day for the vet to be done with him..."  
  
"It's been almost three," Blue told him. The man's eyes grew wide. Three days?  
  
"Geez," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "How hard did that guy hit me?"  
  
"Not as hard as one of us will if ya don't start talkin' soon," Red growled.  
  
"Okay, okay," the man threw up his hands. "I said I'd tell you. He'll probably be there, then. It's..."  
  
It turned out the building they'd searched had been the right one, but they had simply been there at the wrong time. April and Casey booked the man on the next train ride to Burlington (at his request) and the six of them set off that night to find Mikey.  
  
Donatello had rebuilt his turtle-probe, and they watched the screen in the truck as it explored the interior of the building. The man who decorated was very wealthy, that was for certain. Well-kept paintings, many very beautiful, hung over white walls and a beautifully furnished blue tiled floor. For a moment, the halls seemed empty.  
  
They could hear the sound of footsteps behind them. Donnie brought the tiny machine to a halt.  
  
The person walking didn't seem to notice anything unusual, but a foot struck the tiny metal turtle and sent it reeling.  
  
Donnie remembered, as the picture on the screen spun, when they'd done the same thing at the TCRI building. Watching it whirl had made Mikey carsick. Smiling fondly, Don almost mentioned that memory, but the looks on everyone's faces reminded him that his little brother could be dying, or dead. His mouth went dry. He remained silent.  
  
It was some woman who had been walking; her high-heeled shoe had struck the probe. She paused and took a quick scan of the floor, obviously having noticed that she had hit something. She seemed rather young – about April's age – with thin blonde hair pulled into a bun. April gasped when her face turned towards the screen.  
  
"What?" asked Casey and Leo together.  
  
"Donnie," she whispered, shocked, "Do you think you can follow her?"  
  
"What?" asked Casey. "Do ya know her or somethin'?"  
  
The woman turned around, thankfully not having seen them, and entered a side door.  
  
"No problem," said Donnie. He easily slid the turtle-probe under the crack.  
  
It seemed like a very large, well-furnished office with a large window opening up to the city street. They could see a sliver of the van through it. An older man in a pressed off-white business suit with prim silver spectacles on his long nose was standing at the window.  
  
"I thought," he said in a cold British accent, "That we were clear that your services were no longer required, Miss Cartagan." April's eyes widened further.  
  
"For the last time," the woman snapped, "It's _Doctor_. And as long as that kid is as sick as he is, he'll need one." Everyone sat forward. "So, as I see it, my services are still required."  
  
"Then you and I see things very differently," he replied.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
'The old man raised his eyebrows. "How is that your concern?"  
  
"Because if you leave him to his own devices in this state, he will die." This sent a cold pang through everyone's chests. "He's really, really sick." Pause. "Don't you care?"  
  
He shrugged. "I have never been much of an advocate for animal rights," he said lightly. April's jaw dropped in anger, Casey and Raph growled, gripping their respective weapons and everyone else scowled. How dare this man call their brother an animal?  
  
Dr. Cartagan was livid. Had she expected this, she never would have agreed to this job. _Never_. "I am," she said, "and if he could be described as such I would still be fighting for his safety –"  
  
"I would gather as much from a veterinarian."  
  
"but he isn't. I've seen his brain scans, I've heard him speak. He can talk, you know. He has a _name_. If you let him die, you'll be guilty of murder." Sir Ratcliph didn't move. "Don't you care?" Cartagan cried desperately.  
  
"I find it hard to believe that anything that shade of green could possibly be human."  
  
"Not human," said Cartagan, "But he's a person just the same. A kid."  
  
"I find that very difficult to believe."  
  
"He's sixteen!" Cartagan cried, "His name is Michelangelo, and he has a family. He _told_ me! There are people out there looking for him! He's a human in every psychological aspect. How can you just let that die?"  
  
Ratcliph reacted a little too calmly to this outburst. "If," he said, "What you tell me is true, and if his family is as humanlike as you seem to believe, then he is exactly where I want him. One of Miller's photographers went missing the very night we captured him. If he is indeed with this creature's 'family,' and if he has an American's sense of fidelity, he will tell them exactly where to find us. That will put these other creatures right where I want them."  
  
At that, April and Leo had to hold back both Casey and Raphael.  
  
"Bait," Raph growled through clenched teeth, "He's usin' Mikey as bait."  
  
"Lemme at 'em," said Casey. "Jus' lemme at 'em!"  
  
"But," the man on the screen continued, sighing, "If you must, he's in the courtyard."  
  
"The courtyard?" Cartagan cried. "He's _outside_?"  
  
"There is simply no pleasing you, is there?"  
  
"Was he there overnight?"  
  
"He certainly wouldn't me much of an effective lure indoors."  
  
"But that could kill him! Can't you tell how sick he is? You're killing him! Is that what you're trying to do?"  
  
"Quite honestly, once I have all of them, I have no personal preferences."  
  
"You heartless miser," said April and Dr. Cartagan at the same time.  
  
"I told you," the man said coldly, "that he is in the courtyard. Now, unless you would rather throw empty insults at me, I would suggest that you go there before I call security."  
  
Dr. Cartagan, too angry to speak, stormed out. The turtle-probe followed.  
  
"That's it," Raph growled. "I'm goin' up there."  
  
"I'm coming with you," said Leonardo. "Donnie, Master Splinter, April and Casey stay here. Bring the turtle-probe in. April, how well do you know that woman?"  
  
"Really well, said April. "She was one of my best friends in college. We've kept in touch pretty well since then."

"Can we trust her?"  
  
"Yeah. I... I had no idea she was involved in this.... She... wow... I knew she was taking a second job, and it was a little unorthodox, but I had no idea... What an awful man... Yeah," April said, shaking her head. We can trust her."  
  
"Good. If she comes out, talk to her. We could use her help."  
  
"What about me?" Casey demanded.  
  
"You stay here. If Raph and I need help, we'll let you know." That last thing Leo wanted was to have to hold back a furious Raphael and Casey at the same time.  
  
Casey groaned, but didn't protest.  
  
As silently as possible, Raph and Leo mounted the rooftop, bringing the courtyard into view. They both froze. Leo felt his stomach turn to ice.  
  
Mikey was sprawled out on his stomach, his head turned facing where his brothers sat. Patches of snow littered the edges of the courtyard, but the patch of dirt where he lay was clean. The rest of the area appeared to be empty.  
  
"Oohh," Leo heard Raph hiss. "Are they gunna pay for this one." Leo closed his eyes. Raphael didn't know how familiar all of this was...  
  
_Leonardo was the only one awake when Splinter returned. Only he saw his brother, limp in his Sensei's arms, one arm dangling and his head tilted backwards. His eyes were  
  
_...closed, his mouth pulled into a frown so tight it was almost a grimace. Mikey's usual debonair manner, dulled in sickness but not completely lost, was long gone. Now, he was so completely still that  
  
_...if Leo hadn't heard Raphael's harsh, ragged breathing, he would have thought his brother dead. He was completely soaked in cold sewer water, but neither Leonardo nor his Master noticed the smell. All the young turtle could feel was cold, hard  
  
_...panic like a knife in his chest. He needed to get Mikey out of there and fast. It was a miracle he hadn't died already. They hadn't even given him a blanket.  
  
_"Leonardo," said Splinter. "You must wake your brothers and go to bed. I will take care of Raphael."  
  
"Is he... is he gunna be okay, Sensei?"  
  
Master Splinter looked very grave and, for a moment, very old. "I do not know, my son. It will be easier to tell in the morning. Now go to bed."  
  
_Dr. Cartagan burst into the courtyard furiously, interrupting Leonardo's thoughts. "Why can't you just help me?" she cried to someone in the doorway.  
  
"Look, lady," replied a gruff voice. "We just do what we're paid ta do. What happens to that... thing... ain't our business."  
  
"He's practically a human being, and he's dying!" the young doctor shouted. "How is that not your business?" No answer. "Are you even paying attention to me?"  
  
"Look, toots," said the same voice. Dr. Cartagan scowled. "The game's back on, and it's getting good. So would'ja mind keepin' it down out there?"  
  
"He needs to be on his back!" she cried. "Or his side, but not his stomach... he can barely breathe like this. And I'm not strong enough to move him on my own. Will you please just help me for one second?"  
  
A chorus of cheers and cries of 'touchdown!' came from the inside hall. Leo's hands began to tremble with anger.  
  
"Look, hunny," said the voice. "Get it through that pretty little head o'yours. You're on your own."  
  
The door shut. Dr Cartagan, seething with anger, crossed the yard to where Mikey lay. She knelt down and placed a hand gently on his shell.  
  
"Michelangelo," she said quietly into his ear. "_Michelangelo_." He didn't move; she rubbed her hand across the back of his shell. "Michelangelo, can you hear me? Can you hear me?" No response. She put a hand on his forehead.  
  
"Is there a blanket or something... anything... we can use to warm him up?" she cried. No answer. Cartagan thought for a moment, then stripped off her own jacket to place it over the turtle's shoulders. "It's not much," she told him. "But it'll have to do for now. Hang in there, kiddo," she patted his head gently. "Just hang in there. I'm gunna get you out of here. They aren't going to use you as a _trap_ much longer." She emphasized the word 'trap,' looking up over the roof on all sides. Raph and Leo drew back.  
  
"Does she see us?" asked Raph.  
  
"I don't know," Leonardo replied. "But that's a warning if I ever heard one."  
  
"How many guys do ya think they got in there?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
The woman looked around again. The same gruff voice called from the doorway.  
  
"Hey, lady, boss says it's time's up."  
  
"What?" Cartagan cried. "He didn't tell me I had a time limit."  
  
"Tough luck, hunny. Now scram before we hafta make you."  
  
The young woman patted Mikey one more time on the head, whispered something in his ear and left. Raphael looked like he wanted to jump down, but Leo had the sense to hold him back.  
  
"Hang on," he warned his brother. "You don't know how many of them there are."  
  
"I don't care," Raph growled. "They got Mikey. I can take 'em."  
  
"You heard her, Raph," Leo pleaded. "It's a trap."  
  
"Yeah, and it's workin'."  
  
"Wait. Let's just hear what she has to say. Maybe she can help us."  
  
Raphael had a tough time taking his eyes off his little brother, though he knew, in spite of himself, that Leo was right.  
  
"Fine," he said. "But we're gettin' Mikey outa there. Tonight."

* * *

April's heart pounded as her old college buddy came storming out the front door. Her coat was gone, but she seemed too angry to notice.  
  
Dr. Cartagan pulled her cell phone out of her briefcase, searching the list for April's number. Time to make a phone call.  
  
"Jeanie."  
  
Dr. Cartagan looked up. "April!" she cried. "It's so good to see you..."  
  
"I hate to be impolite, but...  
  
"I need to talk to you," they said in unison.


	7. Part 8

"So this Ratcliph," said April, "Thinks there are only three turtles?" Dr. Cartagan nodded, her wide eyes still watching Splinter.  
  
"And he certainly doesn't know about you."  
  
"This leaves us with the advantage," said Donatello. "They're preparing a trap for two turtles and possibly April..."  
  
"And they're gunna get a lot more than they bargained for!" cried Casey, pumping his fist in the air.  
  
"We have to find a way to destroy those pictures too," Leo pointed out.  
  
"But what happens afterward?" askedCartagan . "Ratcliph knows where we all live; he could track down any one of us easily."  
  
"No big," said Casey. "We'll take him to my Grandma's old place in the country. They'll never find us there."  
  
"And being out of the city will do Mikey a lot of good," Donnie agreed. "We can stay there until he gets better."  
  
No one brought up the fact that Michelangelo might not get better. It simply wasn't said.  
  
"Dr. Cartagan," said Master Splinter. "Will you come with us? Michelangelo will need a Doctor's care."  
  
"Of course I will," Cartagan replied. "I'll do whatever I can to help him."  
  
"We are very grateful for your help."  
  
"Anytime."  
  
"So," said Leo, "Here's the plan..."

* * *

April smoothed her shirt and prepared to knock on the door. She took a deep breath. Knowing that they would see through whatever spiel she tried to give them, that they would recognize her face immediately, was somewhat comforting, but with so much at stake her nerves were running high. She knocked.  
  
"Yes?" A scrawny man in black answered the door. His mouth twitched when he saw her face; April's heart pounded.  
  
"Hi," she said calmly. "My name is June O'Rielly, and I'm looking for a Sir Ratcliph."  
  
"Yes, of course," said the man. "Right this way."  
  
He led her inside.

* * *

Raph and Leo remounted the roof, this time not bothering to remain silent. A loud chorus of yells and cheers from inside, however, suggested that they were not heard. Mikey hadn't moved.  
  
Raphael was the first to jump down. He scrutinized the edges of the courtyard – they couldn't seem too oblivious – and crept towards his little brother. Leonardo followed.  
  
"Michelangelo," Leo whispered, his fingers stroking a cold green cheek. His little brother didn't make a sound, save the rattling noises in his chest every time he took a breath. "Mikey, it's us. It's Leo and Raph. Can you hear me?" No response. "He's freezing," Leonardo muttered.  
  
"Hang in there, Mikey," Raph whispered, "We're gunna get you outa here." The two brothers looked at each other and, as gently as they could, flipped Michelangelo onto his back. His face twitched, and he let out a soft moan but didn't wake up. Leo stroked his forehead.  
  
Much more silently, Casey, Don and Master Splinter climbed to the rooftop. All three of them froze at the sight of the turtles in the courtyard.  
  
_Oh, Michelangelo,_ thought Splinter, his heart turning to ice. He was careful to mask his grief. No one knew how much it hurt him to watch his sons in discomfort, that seeing any of them suffering pained him almost as much as watching his master die had. Splinter, however, said nothing, as getting his youngest out of here safely was his only concern right now.  
  
"Oh, Mikey," Donatello groaned. His face fell as his fingers gripped the top of the roof. Splinter patted his hand.  
  
Casey clenched his teeth in fury. How dare they do this to him? He almost leapt down, but Don and Splinter held him back.  
  
"Easy, Casey," said Don. "We can't blow our cover yet."  
  
"But – "  
  
"Hush," Splinter whispered. "Look carefully. They have been spotted. Be silent."  
  
If Leo and Raph noticed the group of men in black, led by a burly man holding a pistol, creeping out the door, they didn't show it. They seemed too busy paying attention to their unconscious brother to see them until they were completely surrounded.  
  
"Freeze," said the leader. Leo and Raph recognized the voice as the same one that had spoken to Dr. Cartagan before. He was pointing his pistol at Leonardo.  
  
"I don' want no funny business," he said gruffly. "Stand up. Right now."  
  
The turtles obeyed.

* * *

The hallway through which the scrawny man was leading April was eerily familiar. The white walls and tiled floor and beautiful paintings were more vivid now, but exactly the same as they had been when she watched the screen in the truck. She made sure to keep behind the messanger at least two steps, lest he should think she knew where they were going.  
  
Sure enough, he led her into the same office that Jeanie had entered. This time, however, it was empty. With a sly sneer and a nod, he left her alone with the promise that Sir Ratcliph would be with her in a moment.  
  
There was a tense silence. April looked around the room, wondering if the photos were here. She looked at his desk, made of brown, highly polished wood. Suddenly, she felt very brave.  
  
April made sure not to touch the surface of the wood, as a single fingerprint would stick out like a neon sign. There was nothing on top (she hadn't been expecting it to be easy), so she opened the top drawer.  
  
She drew back in surprise. There, lying on top of small stacks of papers and folders was a large brown envelope with the word 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped to the top in black lettering. Was this another trap? It seemed too easy.  
  
Sure enough, there was a bunch of photographs. There were two of Leo, Raph and Don (she recognized all three because she knew them well, but Leo was the only one whose headband color was visible); two of her, Leo, Raph and Don, (none of the headbands were visible); one of the warehouse and one of her apartment.  
  
"So that's how they found us," she whispered, looking in shock at the familiar building. She took a peek in the rest of the envelope. Several strips of negatives lay at the bottom.  
  
April bit her lip. While part of her was relieved that she had found what she was looking for, another part was still wary that she had had no trouble. If Ratcliph knew she was coming, why wouldn't he bother to hide it more effectively?  
  
_Why would he leave me alone in the room with it?_ she wondered, _unless..._  
  
"You know, Miss O'Reilly," said a deep British voice behind her. April gasped and spun around. Sir Ratcliph, with a smug smile on his face, stood in the doorway. The scrawny man was behind him. "In England, the word 'confidential' means 'secret' or 'not to be known by persons outside the entrusted group.' I must say that I am rather disappointed with the lack of decorum found in you Americans. The envelope, if you please?"  
  
April scowled, gripping her prize tightly. "You don't know what you're dealing with," she told him.  
  
"Don't I?" he asked, raising an amused eyebrow. "I must admit that neither you nor your... unusual... friends frighten me in the slightest."  
  
"Why can't you leave them alone?" April cried. "They didn't do anything to you."  
  
"Give me the envelope, Miss O'Reilly, and I will not harm them. Your sick friend may or may not survive anyway, but the fate of his... are they brothers? Friends? Family?... is still in question. I am assuming, of course, that they went straight to him, in which case, Mr. Miller's little friends will take care of them." He stared at the ceiling thoughtfully, "It really is too bad Mr. Miller could not be here to see this... he had a promising job offering back home and... but I digress." He smiled at April. "I can make them stop. Give me the envelope, do not give us any reason to harm you, and I can make sure at least two of your little green friends survive."  
  
April scowled.  
  
Sir Ratcliph sighed. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. I had really hoped, but oh well... what must be done, must be done..."

* * *

"You," said the gruff-voiced man, pointing at Leonardo. "Drop your swords. Put 'em on the ground where I can see 'em. And you," he pointed to Raphael. "You carry weapons. I see 'em. Put 'em down next to his."  
  
Raph was seething, his fists clenching and unclenching without touching his sais, but Leo gripped the hilts of both of his swords and began to pull them out. Almost half of these men had pistols. If a stray shot hit Mikey...  
  
_Guys,_ Leo thought, _where are you?_

* * *

"What are we waitin' for?" Casey demanded. "They need us, right now. We gotta stop these freaks before they do somethin' to 'em."  
  
"Not yet," said Splinter calmly. Even Don looked anxious by now. "We must wait until we are sure it is time. Have patience."  
  
"Patience is somethin' I don' got," Casey snapped. "Those guys need us."  
  
"Easy, Casey," said Don, sounding more confident than he felt. "Just a little longer."

* * *

Slowly, very slowly, Leo lifted his katanas from their sheaths. The men glared at him.  
  
"Come on," the ringleader snapped, "How 'bout ya do it sometime this month? I'm growin' old here."  
  
Clearly, the guys weren't coming yet. Leo let his swords fall to the ground. The noise made Mikey flinch in his sleep. He groaned.  
  
_Oh, my son,_ thought Splinter, watching Michelangelo stir. It was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed not to jump down to the young turtle's side right now. No matter how strong his sons grew, no matter how able they were to take care of themselves, he would always be the one ultimately responsible for their safety. Always. .  
  
He had searched for over four hours that night six years ago. He knew the sewers better than his wayward son, and unlike poor Raphael, knew exactly where he had been every step of the way. It had only been a matter of guesswork and luck to find where the young turtle had gone. But he hadn't given up. Not ever. And he wouldn't now.  
  
Oh, my son,_ he thought, as his sharp rat ears picked up something unusual in the sounds of the water. It sounded as though something, around the corner, was blocking it's path. Something larger than a simple piece of litter. Splinter's heart took a leap.  
  
There he was, panting, exhausted, on the brink of unconsciousness, lying in the middle of the frigid sewer water. Raphael was soaked to the bone, lying on his shell and gasping for breath. He looked like he could not hold on much longer.  
  
"Raphael," whispered Splinter, kneeling by the boy's side and scooping him out of the water. "Raphael. Answer me, my son."  
  
Raphael's eyes, exhausted and blinking behind a drenched red bandana, tried to focus on the figure in front of him as Splinter did his best to warm the young turtle with his body.  
  
"S-s-s-en-ssss... sssssennn..." he slurred. Splinter hushed him. Raphael's chest heaved as he gave a feeble cough. That he was too weak to cough more deeply than that was not a good sign. The effort alone seemed to hurt. He winced, groaned, attempted to cough again and only succeeded in gasping for breath. Splinter held him close.  
  
"Relax, my son," he murmured, starting towards the lair at a run. "You will be home soon. You are safe now, my son. You will be all right."  
  
Raphael hadn't heard him. His form grew limp as he fell into a deep but restless slumber._

* * *

"What are we waiting for, Sensei?" asked Don as Raphael, growling in fury, dropped his sais.  
  
"They can survive without their weapons," Splinter explained, pushing the memories from his head. "I would like to see what has happened to Miss O'Neil before we reveal ourselves. The aim is not to give them any element of surprise."  
  
Donatello nodded.  
  
They didn't have long to wait. Raphael, never having been a turtle of self- control, suddenly decided that he didn't care about the pistols and attacked. The ringleader dropped his gun in surprise, and Leo saw his chance.  
  
The brawl was not very long, for a couple minutes later, three people appeared in the doorway. One was the man in the light-colored suit Dr. Cartagan had identified as Sir Ratcliph; he was holding a manilla envelope in one hand. Another was a scrawny man dressed in black with a knife in one hand and an evil smirk on his pale face. The third was April.  
  
"Stop this foolishness now," Ratcliph ordered. Everyone stopped. "Now," he said calmly, "you will all..."  
  
Exactly what they were all going to do was never learned, for Casey chose that exact moment to lose his temper. With one, well-aimed leap, he knocked the knife out of the scrawny man's hand and sent him tumbling into a patch of snow.  
  
"Leave 'er alone," he ordered Ratcliph, looking especially menacing behind his mask. Ratcliph gaped.  
  
Don and Master Splinter looked at each other. Splinter nodded.  
  
They jumped down.

* * *

Dr. Cartagan's role was to travel to her appartment (she only lived two blocks away) and gather anything she could find to help Mikey. This kind of tense situation had never been her forte, but she managed to keep her cool. Blankets, a cold water bottle, some rags, a thermos of hot water, a thermometer and a pillow found their way into the back of the truck.

Thankfully, as no one under Sir Ratcliph's supervision knew of her friendship with April, she had not been followed. Her heart leapt with a kind of novel excitement as she arranged the blankets on the floor. They just might pull this off.

But all Cartagan could do now was wait. Sit on the blankets, listen to the sounds of the street and wait…


	8. Part 9

**A/N:** This chapter is going to be a little... different from the others. Apologies in advance if it's confusing. Just keep in mind that half- conscious people rarely understand what's going on either... that might help.

* * *

Cold. Very cold. And dark. Alone. He didn't like being alone. Wind hurt. Hurt his chest. Hard to breathe. Hurt to breathe. Ice in his chest. Ice on his cheek. Cold dirt. Hard dirt. Cold... dark... lonely... hurt.  
  
Ice on his chest. In his chest. Sitting on him. Cold, hard ground sitting on his chest. It hurt. Where was everyone? Cold silence. Alone. Lonely. Ice on his chest. On his head. Couldn't move. So cold...  
  
Someone groaned, and his chest hurt. Hurt like a knife. An ice knife on the inside. So cold. Chest cold. Blood cold. Cold blood. Cold blooded... Wind hurt like a knife. So cold... freezing...  
  
Darkness.

* * *

_The others were too busy practicing to see or hear Raphael sneaking out of his room. He'd show them. He wasn't sick. Sick of being stuck in his room all day, maybe, but not as weak as they thought.  
  
He didn't know where he was going when he stepped out the front door, or what he would do when he got there, but that didn't matter.  
  
Raph didn't care that out in the sewers, the air was so cold that it pricked his skin in tiny needles. He didn't care that drawing a breath stung his chest, or that coughing hurt him even more. He didn't care that his throat felt raw and dry like sandpaper. That didn't matter now. He just needed to get out of there.  
  
He started to run.  
_

* * *

Cold... so... cold... ice... dark... breathe... hurt... ice... pressure... dark...  
  
Voices. Faint and far away. So quiet. Why so far away? They could make him warm. So cold...  
  
Laughter. Cruel laughter. He felt cold. Something poked him. It hurt. Hurt like ice. Groaning burned. The laughter was cruel. Where was everyone? The laughter burned. Burned into his chest like sharp ice. Lonely... cold... hurt... couldn't move... so cold...  
  
So cold...  
  
Gold light swam into his vision. Warm gold light. He smiled. A short, familiar figure was emerging from it. Mikey sat up.  
  
Brown fur, a walking stick and soft, comforting eyes slipped into focus. Michelangelo nearly cried with joy.  
  
"Sensei?" he cried. Splinter nodded, kneeling and wrapping his son into a soft, warm embrace. Mikey all but sobbed into his furry arms as the older rat stroked his head.  
  
"Hush, my son," he whispered. "All will be well. We _will_ find you. Have faith, Michelangelo."  
  
"What're you talking about?" Mikey asked, holding him tighter. "I'm right here."  
  
But something was happening. The furry arms were fading, slipping through his fingers. The harder Michelangelo tried to hold onto them, the more they faded.  
  
"Sensei?" he cried. "Sensei, where are you going?" Panic threatened to overtake him; with it came the cold darkness. "Come ba – " Ice gripped his chest. Sandpaper scratched him raw and the gold light was gone.  
  
Darkness... cold darkness... so cold... icy dirt sat on his chest, pinning him down so hard he couldn't breathe.  
  
Freezing... dark... lonely... so lonely... hurt... silence...  
  
_Help me, please..._  
  
Cold hurt. So cold... lonely... so... cold...  
  
Darkness.

* * *

_Every time Raph fell it was harder to get up than it had been the time before. The second time, the coughing fit that overtook him was so deep and so long that he felt sure his lungs would come up at any moment. The third time, his exhausted body was shaking – especially his knees – so violently he had to lean against the wall for almost five minutes before his legs would support him. He had to cough, his chest burned with the need for it, but couldn't produce anything more than a raspy gag.  
  
He half ran – half stumbled up one tunnel and down another, no longer caring where he went. Thinking had long since left him; all he knew now was emotion. Anger. Anger at Master Splinter for keeping him inside. Anger at Leo for being so bossy, anger at Don for being such a know-it-all, anger at Mikey for making him feel the slightest bit guilty about all this...  
  
They had called him weak. And he hated them for it.  
  
It wasn't much longer than ten minutes before Raph collapsed again. Part of him started to worry that his falls were growing more and more frequent, but he pushed that part away. He closed his eyes and let the cold sewer water swirl around his hands and face (his feet had long since gone numb).  
  
_So cold...  
  
_Raph clambered heavily to his feet, shaking and stumbling and nearly falling again. He tried to breathe in, but the cold air hurt so much... He winced at its icy fierceness. He held onto the wall for support.  
  
_So... cold...  
  
_But he wouldn't go back. Not now. They'd just yell at him again, and he was old enough not to need their baby's treatment anymore. He was ten. He didn't need them.  
  
Raphael didn't go twenty feet before he fell again.  
_  
So... cold... freezing... hurts...  
  
_He fought to his feet and kept on.  
  
Ten feet later, he fell again.  
  
This time, he did not get up.  
_

* * *

A woman's voice... he knew it... Not April, but he knew it. A hand on his shell. On his face. A warm hand. He wanted warm. So cold...  
  
She was saying his name. He tried to respond, but he couldn't move. The ice wouldn't let him. So cold... hard to breathe. Hurt.  
  
The hand left. Mikey would've cried if he could have. So cold... and lonely...  
  
_Come back._  
  
The ice was squeezing him now. Dirt was squeezing his chest like a vice. Hurt to breathe. So sore... so sore and so cold...  
  
Something warm on his shoulders. Warm. Mikey embraced the warmth.  
  
"Hang in there, kiddo... hang in there... out of here... _trap_..." Voice far away. Yelling. It hurt. Hand on his head again. Warm. He wanted warm. So cold...  
  
"You'll get out of here," the voice whispered in his ear. "That's a promise. I'm going to get you out of here. Just hold on."  
  
The hand was gone. The voice was gone. Silence... darkness... the warm thing was on his shoulders... Where did she go? Alone. Hurt.  
  
More voices. Not her. Familiar. Soft.  
  
"Mikey..."  
  
He clung to them. He knew those sounds. He wanted to smile. To cry. But the icy ground was too strong. Fingers on his face. Warm fingers.  
  
"Leo... Raph... freezing..."  
  
"Mikey..."  
  
Strong arms grasped his shoulders and feet, lifting him into the air. The warm thing... where did the warm thing go? Cold air. Cold wind. Hurt. Chest in air. On icy air. Hurt. Cold...  
  
Turning. Dizzy. Turning... darkness... air so cold... hurt... falling... Ground gone. Wind on chest. Hurt. Cold. No more dirt. Wind like ice on his chest. In his face. Neck hurt. Icy ground on his shell, on his head. Hard to...  
  
Breathe. In. Out. In... out... The air didn't sit so hard on his chest. The warm thing was back. It felt good.  
  
Somewhere miles away, Mikey felt his face twitch. Heard himself groan. Lots of air. Cold air. It sliced up his lungs, but the dirt was on his shell. The warm thing felt good.  
  
The voices were quiet again. Far away... He wanted to call them. He wanted them back. So lonely... Wanted it desperatelly... But it hurt so much... lonely...  
  
More voices. The cold, cruel ones. Mikey hurt. Silence. Lonely, dark silence. All he had was the warm thing.  
  
_My legs... so cold... where are my legs?_  
  
Sore... knives... burn... breathe... in...  
  
_Clang._  
  
A sharp noise. It hurt. The sound hurt him, the ground buzzed and it hurt more. He felt it in his shell, in his head. His face moved. His voice made a noise and it seared him like fire.  
  
Lonely... hurt... dark... he hated being alone.  
  
Another c_lang_. Farther away, but it hurt. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough... but it hurt... and he was so cold... so tired...  
  
Yelling... far away... voices... noise... where did his brothers go? Silence... more yelling... so loud... so far... it hurt... the darkness was fuzzy again. The warm thing sliding off his chest. He tried to move, to pull it back where it could warm him, but he couldn't. Too tired... too cold... so very cold... so very tired...  
  
Where was everybody?  
  
Lots of voices now. Shouting. Clashing. Clashes by his head, over him. His face twitched again. They left. It hurt. Lonely... cold... so very cold...  
  
A yell, a crash by his head. It hurt. Noise hurt his head. Hurt his chest. He wanted to cough. But it hurt. So sore...  
  
A voice. Mikey smiled. He knew that voice.  
  
"Hey," it said, "hands off my brother."  
  
Mikey's face twitched. He clung to that voice, he needed it. The darkness was so fuzzy, so cold... he wanted to sleep... but he wanted that voice more. He was scared of sleeping. The voice could help him get warm. So cold...  
  
He could hear movement. Slow, gentle movement. Fingers brushed his forehead, put the warm thing back on. A steady, three-fingered hand touched his chest lightly. It didn't hurt.  
  
Mikey groaned. It burned like sandpaper. He wrenched his eyes open.  
  
Fuzzy... darkness... blurry darkness. Shapes and colors shifted and swam in front of his eyes. A patch of green... darkness... figures behind him... so many... moving... so fuzzy... a strip of purple... two strips of purple, dancing this way and that. Mikey clung to them.  
  
The figure stroked Mikey's cold forehead. He wanted to cry again. The fingers were warm, comforting...  
  
_Donnie..._  
  
"Hang in there, Mikey," his brother whispered. "We'll get you out of here, okay? We have to get you warm."  
  
Warm. Yes. Warm was good. So cold... Mikey groaned. He tried to cough, but couldn't. So tired...  
  
"Hold on, Mikey," said Donatello. His face with it's gentle, comforting expression was beginning to slide into focus. It hurt so much. "Save your strength. Don't breathe too deeply, okay? Just breathe normally. Not too deep, not too shallow. As if you were going to sleep." Mikey would have nodded if he could have. But moving hurt so much...  
  
"I wish I had a blanket or something for you," Don whispered. Clashes and yells behind him threatened to drown out his voice. He rubbed Mikey's arms, trying to put warmth back in them. It helped. A little. Mikey closed his eyes.  
  
"Hey, hey," whispered Don a little louder, "Stay with me, Mikey. You have to hold on just a little longer. Stay with me. Come on, Mikey. Don't go to sleep on me yet."  
  
Mikey groaned. So tired... so cold and so very tired...  
  
"I know it hurts. You must be exhausted. But you need to stay with me. Just a little bit longer, and we'll have you out of here, okay? Mikey?"  
  
Another movement. Another voice. Another presence.  
  
"Is he..." April. Mikey shifted. It hurt. He wanted to sleep.  
  
"He's awake, but barely."  
  
"Don... they need you... I'll stay..."  
  
"don't let... sleep... Mikey..."  
  
"...careful... try..."  
  
"...him awake..."  
  
"Mikey," whispered April. Donnie was gone. Her hand was softer, warmer, more frail. "Mikey. _Michelangelo_." Mikey tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't. So very tired...  
  
Someone took his hand.  
  
"I know it's hard," she whispered. "You must be freezing. Here," another warm thing. It felt good. "Hang on, Mikey. Be strong. I'm right here. Stay with me, okay? Just hang on."  
  
Mikey tried, he really tried. But he was so very tired. And the fuzzy darkness was back. It still hurt... sandpaper scouring him like fire... icy fire... so cold... so tired...  
  
"Mikey? _Michelangelo!"_  
  
So... very... tired... so... cold... darkness...  
  
Darkness... voices... clangs... shouts... fighting... far away... cold... hurt... darkness...  
  
Movement... fire... ice... hurt... strong arms... moving... warm things gone... bitter cold... so cold... so tired... hurt... freezing...  
  
"I gotcha, Mikey," said a voice he could barely hear. "Hang in there, I gotcha..."  
  
Moving... flying... scared... hurt... strong arms... dark... hurt... so cold... air... freezing... dark...  
  
Down. Stop moving. Hurt. Soft. Someone groaned... it hurt... fire... so cold...  
  
Warmth. Blankets... thick, warm blankets... he wanted to cry... warm... so very nice and warm... voices... hands...  
  
"There ya go, Mikey," said the same voice. Raph. Mikey almost smiled. "You're okay now. We gotcha outa there."  
  
"Michelanglo, my son," said another voice as a furry hand brushed his forehead.  
  
"Mikey... good..."  
  
"Okay... Mikey..."  
  
"Mikey..."  
  
So many voices... it hurt... tired...  
  
"Hush," said Splinter's voice. "Do not crowd him... Dr Cartagan... room..."  
  
Another warm hand. Mikey wrenched his eyes open again. Four faces, no, two faces, no... many faces... so fuzzy... danced and swam in front of him. Some were pale; they stroked his forehead... many hands... warm...  
  
"Do you remember me?" they whispered. They had a funny echo, like they couldn't speak all at once... it hurt. Mikey tried to groan, but couldn't. Hurt so much... so hard to breathe... so tired...  
  
"Michelangelo," whispered the other faces. They were brown. "You are safe, now, my son... going... all right... relax... Doctor ..." the voice was growing fuzzier and fuzzier. He tried to hold onto it, but it was hard. So hard. Tired... so very tired... so hard to breathe...  
  
His eyes closed. Stone held them down... tried to open... tried to speak... move... couldn't... so tired...  
  
Movement. They were all moving. Somewhere miles away, a rumble. Mikey fought to stay awake.  
  
Hurt to breathe... hard...  
  
"hang in there..."  
  
So... very... tired...  
  
Darkness. 


	9. Part 10

**A/N:** Wow... thanks. That was the biggest wave of reviews I think I've ever gotten... so thank you. Wow... you rock. Holy cow. You guys seriously rock. I guess the effect I had been hoping for got across then, huh? Wow. I just hope this chapter can live up to (or at least, isn't disappointing next to) the previous one.  
  
**Pretender Fanfic:** I was never planning on it. I don't like writing fight scenes.

* * *

_Raphael paused for a moment, allowing a short cough to escape his lips. It was so cold in here... but he couldn't let the others notice. He struck at his older brother with every ounce of energy he had, refusing to let him know anything was wrong. It had taken forever to convince them that he wasn't sick and could practice. He hated to look weak. Especially in front of them.  
  
And he wasn't sick. He didn't even feel tired. Sure he had that stupid cough, but he wasn't sick. Was. Not. Sick. He, for one, was not going to let some dumb cough slow him down.  
  
Leo paused for a moment to catch his breath. Raphael let himself cough again, but quietly. He was afraid that if anyone noticed, they'd freak out and treat him like a baby. He didn't need that. He was ten. He could take care of himself.  
  
Leonardo was looking at him with eyes filled with concern.  
  
"Are you okay, Raph?" he asked.  
  
"M'fine," Raphael snapped. Darn it, he had to cough again. Couldn't this stupid thing just leave him alone? He was fine._ No,_ he thought as Mikey and Don quit their fighting,_ stop it. Go away._ "I said I'm fine," he told them firmly.  
  
"You don't sound so good," said Mikey.  
  
"Maybe you should stop," Leo told him warily.  
  
"Leave me alone already!" Raph cried. "I ain't sick. Leave me alone already, will ya?"  
  
"Raphael," said Splinter. Raph groaned. "Please calm down. Do not work yourself too hard; it is not good for your cough. You are slowing down, my son. If you overwork yourself, you will indeed become very ill."  
  
"I ain't sick!" Raph cried.  
  
"Not yet," said Don, stupid know-it-all that he was. "But you could be coming down with something. If you overexert yourself, your cough could worsen until you really are sick. Your body –"  
  
"I don't care about it, braniac!" said Raph. "Jus' leave me alone, will ya? I'm – "  
  
Splinter was immediately by his side. He placed a hand on Raphael's chin, hushing him, and knelt down. He stared into Raphael's glaring eyes.  
  
"Practice is over for today," he told all of his sons. The other three nodded and left. "Be careful," he said to Raphael. "Be wise. You are sicker than you think you are. I fear that if you work yourself too hard, your weakened body will not be able to withstand it."  
  
"I ain't weak!" Raph cried, yanking his chin from his Sensei's grasp. Splinter grabbed his shoulder and held it in a firm, but painless grip.  
  
"You are not weak, my son," Splinter said, putting emphasis on the words 'are not.' Raph scowled. He hated being lectured on his language almost as much as he hated being called weak. "I did not say that you were. You are falling ill. You must be wise, and take precautionary measures so that you recover quickly."  
  
"Yeah," said Raph. "Okay. Whatever."  
  
Glowering as his Sensei released him, Raphael stormed out of the room._

* * *

The only sounds in the entire room were those coming from the figure on the bed. He gave a weak, raspy moan and shifted on the couch, grunting and muttering quietly.  
  
April and Casey were clutching hands, the three brothers huddled together and were still. None of their terrified eyes left the couch.  
  
An orange headband lay limp and forgotten on the bedside table. Next to it was a glass of water, a thermometer and a bowl containing a cool, wet cloth. Two blankets covered the turtle on the bed. Splinter and Dr. Cartagan, their eyes tired and grave, removed the top one.  
  
"It is important," said Dr. Cartagan, wringing out the washcloth, "Since he is essentially cold-blooded, to monitor his temperature carefully." She placed the damp cloth on his forehead, "His body will tend towards higher temperatures than his environment, but if the air around him becomes too cold, he will not be able to maintain his fever. This is not a good thing. He will need the fever to fight the illness. Too much, however, will push him to delirium; it could do more harm than help. We will have to watch him carefully."  
  
Everyone nodded.  
  
"We also have to encourage him – as strongly as we can – to cough. I know this sounds weird, but the fact that he is too weak to cough is also not a good thing. He is unable to clear out the fluid in his lungs, or even loosen it up, and it is strongly hindering his ability to breathe. Whenever he wakes up, even if he is only half-conscious, it is good to try to sit him up and get him to cough as much as possible." Everyone nodded again.  
  
"Is he gunna make it?" asked Donnie. Splinter and Dr. Cartagan looked at each other, both sets of eyes serious.  
  
"I don't know," Cartagan sighed, "Right now, I just don't know."  
  
"Michelangelo is very ill," said Splinter, "He will need us here at every moment. But the bond among family is a powerful one. I pray it is enough to bring him back to us."  
  
"We can count ourselves lucky," said Doctor Cartagan, "That he has the bacterial – not contagious – form. Severe viral pneumonia is one of the scariest things... but we don't need to worry about catching it."  
  
The three remaining turtles exchanged glances.  
  
Outside, the first spring rain was beginning to melt the layers of snow. Mikey shifted in his sleep but did not wake.

* * *

Although Splinter and Dr. Cartagan worked tirelessly to alleviate his illness and none of the others would leave his side, Michelangelo did not improve. For three days they cared for him. They wiped his face with the cloth and took off blankets when he became too hot, replaced them when he grew too cold, gave him water, tea or spoonfuls of broth when he was his most awake (a half-conscious state when his eyes would crack open and he would give the smallest responses to sounds), at least twice daily they would sit him up and try to get him to cough, with little results. His condition did not get better. In fact, Cartagan noted by the third afternoon that if anything, he was becoming more and more tired. His subtle responses were more sluggish than ever, he was having a harder and harder time waking up and his periods of half-consciousness were growing shorter. His heavy breathing seemed more labored. Cartagan felt a cold chill every time he moved now. He was growing weaker. Battling illness was an exhausting affair, she knew, and she wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.  
  
Being a veterinarian, she was more used to the nature of a relationship between a pet owner and an animal than she was to that amongst a family. But the brothers fascinated her. Personality clashes were obvious, but there was a bond between them that she could not describe. Rarely did she see the three turtles away from their sick brother; almost never would she find one without the other two in close range.  
  
Leonardo, who seemed to be the leader of the group, hid his tormented emotions well. He was there to be strong, to support his family. All of his energy, it seemed, was spent on comforting his two brothers. He would put a hand on a shell or offer an arm to those who needed it, and only when they were taken care of would he allow his grief to show. For the pain was apparent in his eyes as he watched Michelangelo toss and turn on the makeshift bed.  
  
Raphael was the sullen, angry one. He either spent his time and energy, when his grief wasn't too great to mask, in a furious silence, yelling at the others over small things or beating the stuffing out of whatever would stay still long enough. Sometimes he would shrug off an offered hand and storm out (he never stayed gone long), and sometimes he would take it. Usually he was too deep in his anger to notice.  
  
It was Donatello, who's scientific expertise fell short of helping his dying brother, who showed the most emotion. Most of the time he remained by the couch, watching Michelangelo in silence or allowing himself to be comforted by April or Leonardo or Splinter. Although Cartagan caught each of them with tears in his eyes more than once, Donatello cried the most freely.  
  
Truly, she thought, watching the three of them grasp Mikey's frail, green hand, the brothers' bond was strong. It could be Michelangelo's saving grace.  
  
"You know," she said from the doorway. The turtles looked up. "He can probably hear you speak."  
  
"We know," said Leonardo sadly. "We've tried."  
  
"We've been speaking to him," said Donatello. "He hasn't come back."  
  
"He will when he's ready," said Dr. Cartagan, sounding more sure of herself than she felt. "It may be that he's been trying. Speaking to him will give him something to cling to. It's comforting for him just to hear your voices."  
  
"What do we say?" Leonardo asked. Jeanie got the impression he wasn't used to looking so helpless.  
  
"Anything. It'll help him just to hear you, even if he can't understand what you're saying." Cartagan pulled up a chair next to Mikey's bed and stroked his fevered forehead. "Has he coughed at all?" The brothers shook their heads. There was a nervous silence.  
  
"You know," she told them, "The four of you remind me a lot of some clients of mine. I'm a vet," she explained. They nodded. "Some of the cutest little buggers I work with, too, which is saying something. I've only met them twice, for check ups. A girl about nine or ten years old owns them..."  
  
"Wait a second," Leo interrupted. "What are they?"  
  
Dr. Cartagan looked surprised. "Turtles," she said.  
  
Small faint, traces of smiles appeared on their faces. Jeanie stroked Michelangelo's forehead some more.  
  
"Anyway," she continued, "There's four of them, and they're all brothers... at least, I'm pretty sure they are, and geez... people who think reptiles can't have personality have not met these guys...  
  
"First, there's Razor. She calls him that because he thinks he's so tough... and actually he is. He doesn't like me at all, but many animals don't like their vets... what can you do? He tries to fight me every time I take him out of the box (I always win); I swear he would snap at me if he could, but he's not that kind of turtle. Then I set him on the table, and he gets this evil glare, like 'touch me and die.'"  
  
Their smiles were growing larger now. Even Michelangelo didn't seem so much in discomfort. Leonardo and Donatello were taking sidelong glances at their red-banded brother, who was staring at the ground letting the faintest of smirks take over his expression.  
  
"If he weren't this big," Dr. Cartagan made her thumbs and forefingers form a circle, "he might be remotely frightening." Raphael almost grinned. "But it's just hilarious. And then there's Houdini; she calls him that because he's the only one who's been able to break out of the cage. He's one of the more curious ones. He always has to check everything out. Every new environment, the scale, the measuring tape, his owner would swear he's making little observations in his head, like he's got to figure out how everything works." Donatello smiled. "I mean, his cognitive skills are limited, of course, being a not-mutated domestic turtle, but what that little guy could do with opposable thumbs..." Jeanie smiled and shook her head slowly. "Where Razor is an aggressive little fight-picker, Houdini is more mellow. He's pretty peaceable. Most of the time he just ignores Razor when he's being obnoxious."  
  
Michelangelo's face was definitely relaxing now. Maybe he couldn't smile, but it was clear he could hear her voice, and was enjoying it.  
  
"Nutshell (no idea why she calls him that) on the other hand, will fight back, with a vengeance. He doesn't look for trouble the way Razor does, but if there's a fight between two of them, most of the time it's between Razor and Nutshell." Leonardo and Raphael looked at each other. Donatello almost smirked. "I've never seen one that isn't. But Nutshell isn't angry, he's just tough. But he isn't super-curious like some of the others are. I've often wondered what he would say if he could talk... you have to wonder what must be running through that little guy's head...  
  
"And lastly, you have Bean. He's the super-curious one, but he's not as tough as the others are. Usually when Razor comes on looking angry, he's the one that'll retreat into his shell. He's done that when I've picked him up too. And he won't come out... until you put food in front of him. Then automatically he's your new best friend." All three of the brothers looked at Mikey. Dr. Cartagan stroked his forehead. "The little girl who owns them thinks it's his only motivation in life... 'Getfood-getfood-getfood- getfood...' I wouldn't put it past him. Curious little guy, too, he'd walk right off the table if I wasn't there to catch him. We think he probably thinks there's food waiting for him on... where ever he thinks he's going." Dr. Cartagan paused. "Now, I've never actually met your brother when he's completely himself, but April tells me – "  
  
"That's him," Raph interrupted her. All three expressions had gone dark.  
  
"Mikey in a nutshell."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"He's been hearing me," Cartagan told them. "I can tell."  
  
"So can we," said Donatello. The other two nodded.  
  
By that evening, Michelangelo had changed again, though still not for the better. He stirred less, rarely made any sort of noise and never woke up. They kept his environment steady, so his temperature remained the same, but his hands were clammy and cold. They seemed more limp, heavier than normal. Dr. Cartagan gently squeezed a hand and shared glances with Master Splinter. Both expressions were grave. They knew what it meant.  
  
_We're losing him._  
  
No one spoke for nearly an hour. They surrounded the couch in a tense silence. Hope was dwindling.  
  
"I would like," said Splinter, his voice older than it had ever been, "To spend the night alone with my son."

Leo and Don exchanged glances.

"You can't give up," Cartagan replied, "Not yet. He – "  
  
"I am not giving up," Splinter's tone didn't change. "I am simply requesting to spend the night alone with him."

Leo and Don looked at each other with wide eyes, remembering. Could it be... could they still hope...?

Everyone agreed that the request was not unreasonable, but no one wanted to leave. The chances of Mikey making it to the morning were questionable. What if this was the last time they saw him alive?  
  
"I will call you if anything goes wrong," Splinter assured them.

His eyes were the only ones dry as everyone else got up to leave.


	10. Part 11

**A/N:** The turtle thing was just some weird gag I came up with at like 3 am... I never intended it to be realistic. I've never even owned turtles. I just figured, hey, in a world where pet rats can learn Ninjitzu from a cage, turtles can have personalities, right?

* * *

Splinter brushed a furry hand across Michelangelo's forehead. His youngest son didn't move; his pained expression stayed frozen.  
  
"My son," Splinter whispered, though he knew the sleeping turtle couldn't hear him, "Michelangelo, please come back to me."  
  
No response. Splinter sighed, taking a deep breath. He gathered every ounce of internal and external strength he possessed. He would need it. Reaching his son in his dreams was not an easy task, maintaining contact through his nightmares full of violence and fire and ice and everything else next to impossible. His most successful contact had been the first time, before they had rescued him. Since then, he had caught a glimpse but had been unable to work through the chaos.  
  
Now, however, he couldn't hold back. He needed to reach Michelangelo before it was too late.  
  
_Raphael's sleeping form was as still as stone as his Sensei let a paw stroke his forehead. Strange to see it so bare...  
  
"My son," Splinter whispered. No response. "Raphael, please return to us."  
  
He hadn't been expecting an answer, and inhaled deeply when none came. This was not going to be easy. He wasn't even sure if it was possible. But Raphael needed him now more than ever. His poor, sick son needed his Master to bring him home before it was too late.  
  
_The first steps of relaxation and meditation were easy, routine. Splinter had no trouble getting into the altered state of consciousness he knew so well. It would be  
  
_...getting to the state of dreams, specifically those of the boy in front of him, that would be far more difficult. He would be testing the strength of the bond among family. Raphael's life  
  
_...depended on that test.  
  
Splinter reached out with his mind, searching for the life force that was his youngest son. As usual, it was there, fainter, weaker than before. But Splinter grasped it and pulled himself inside, letting the chaotic terror of Michelangelo's dreams surround him. It was  
  
_...taxing to say the least, holding his own in the midst of Raphael's nightmare. Darkness and voices and creatures who existed only in the ten year old's imagination surrounded Splinter him, clawing and growling and biting and roaring until Splinter himself was almost lost among them. Disoriented in this unfamiliar place, he could not fight them off.  
  
_Many of the attackers this time were ninjas and monsters that they had encountered before, though many were not. A strange, black mist surrounded them all; an opening bright red in color threatened to swallow Splinter and Mikey both. But the wise old rat remembered, after a moment, six years before. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he reminded himself that these hallucinations were Michelangelo's, not his own.  
  
_Splinter fought for control. He had come for Raphael, not to be swallowed up by his young son's dreams. He foreced himself to separate from Raphael's mind. The chaos stopped. Splinter found himself watching the nightmarish array  
  
_... attacking a struggling green form on the ground. He started toward them, gripping his figurative walking stick as his eyes narrowed in fierce determination.  
  
_He was a little uneasy, watching it. What was he supposed to do? The scene before him wasn't even real.  
  
"Raphael," he said, "My son. Look past this. It is not real. Raphael, my son. Listen to the sound of my voice. Cling to it. It is real... the rest is not. See past the illusions, my son."  
  
Nothing. Raphael groaned, in pain, in fear, Splinter didn't know.  
  
"Raphael," he begged, "Listen to me."  
  
Still no response. Splinter gripped his walking stick... strange that it had come with him. An idea struck him. He looked down.  
  
Part of him felt awkward, fighting something that wasn't even real. But it was real to his son, real enough to hurt him, and Splinter pushed that part of him away. He needed his full concentration right now.  
  
He raised his walking stick and struck.  
  
_Fighting imaginary attackers was much easier the second time. He had the experience to know just how real they were. And dreams were funny things; once he started to win, most of them vanished like smoke, leaving an exhausted Michelangelo lying alone on the figurative ground.  
  
"Ssssensei..." he slurred. Splinter took one of his hands in his own.  
  
_Raphael blinked slowly, looking very young and very helpless. Splinter brushed his forehead.  
  
"You are safe now, my son," he said, "I  
  
_...am here."  
  
Michelangelo looked happier and more relieved than Splinter had ever seen him, but the heavy exhaustion still pulled on him. He closed his eyes.  
  
"Michelangelo," said Splinter, not allowing the panic to show. Had he waited too long? "Michelangelo, listen to my voice and stay with me."  
  
"Tired..."  
  
"I know you are, my son. But you must stay tuned in to my voice. Open your eyes, Michelangelo. Look at me."  
  
"Wan'ta sleep..."  
  
Splinter knew it was no use to tell him he already was. "Be strong, my son. You must remain strong."  
  
"So tired..."  
  
Michelangelo trailed off. His breathing grew slower; his hand was becoming limp...  
  
"Michelangelo," said Splinter loudly into his son's ear. "Wake up. Open your eyes."  
  
The young turtle's head lolled to one side. His breath was so faint that it was almost impossible to hear. Splinter could feel his stomach turning to ice. It wasn't working He didn't know what would happen to him if he was caught in Michelangelo's dream as he died, but wasn't ready to abandon his son yet. Not if there was a sliver of hope.  
  
"Michelangelo," he pleaded, "My son. Please come back to me."  
  
No response.  
  
_"I didn't wanna leave him, Sensei. I made you a sandwich, too. Can I eat in here, with you?"  
  
Normally, Splinter did not allow his sons to eat anywhere except the kitchen or, on occasion, in the living room, but seeing his son's eyes, small and sad and afraid, he sighed. Michelangelo was always the caring one, the giver, the nursemaid. Even in his young age, even amongst his childish silliness, the motivation to make everything right for his family was always there.  
  
_"Michelangelo. Michelangelo, open you eyes. Come back to us, my son."  
  
_"Someday, I wanna go find treasure just like the other Mikey. Then I'd be so rich, that no one would care that I'm a turtle and I could become a pirate and bury all my gold and..."  
  
_"You must not give up yet, my son. You are strong. Do not give up yet... Listen to my voice and come back to me. Open your eyes."  
  
_"I made you soup. Are ya hungry? It's Cam-buls. Sensei hadda help me with the can opener, but I heated it up by myself."  
  
"Thanks, Mikey."  
  
"Mas'er Splin'er says you shouldn't talk yet. Not 'till you're better-er. Here, eat."  
  
Splinter, standing unnoticed in the doorway, smiled.  
  
_Splinter closed his eyes. Michelangelo was not responding.  
  
"My son," he said. "Remember your family. You cannot give up yet. Your brothers need you, my son. We are waiting for you to come back. Your brothers need you to be strong. I need you to be strong." He squeezed Michelangelo's cold, green hand. "Open your eyes, Michelangelo, and come back to me.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, two bleary eyes opened a crack. Splinter's heart leapt as Michelangelo's face wrinkled. He groaned softly.  
  
"That's it, my son. Listen to my voice."  
  
"Tired... sleep..."  
  
Michelangelo's voice was so raspy it was almost unrecognizable, but Splinter didn't care. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.  
  
"You may sleep later, my son. Not now. Now you must do something for me."  
  
_"I am going to leave you, my son, but I will not go far. I need you to follow me. Listen to the sound of my voice, and come to it. Do not give in to the temptation to sleep. Do you understand, my son?"  
  
Raphael nodded slowly. He gave his Sensei a weak smile. Splinter closed his eyes and allowed himself to return to his son's room.  
_

* * *

"You mean," said Cartagan, dumbfounded, to the three turtles, "He's done this before?"  
  
Raph shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "I don't remember."  
  
But Leo and Don nodded.  
  
"He wouldn't let us be in the room with him, but he stayed there all night," said Leo. "The next morning, he was exhausted. But Raph was okay..."  
  
"Not completely recovered of course," Donatello corrected him. "But out of immediate danger. We'd really thought we were going to lose him..."  
  
Everyone looked at each other. No one dared to hope.  
  
"He'll come back," said Raph firmly. "It's Mikey. He's too annoying to want to quit."  
  
"And Master Splinter knows what he's doing," Leonardo agreed. "If anyone can get Mikey well, he can."  
  
Expressions hardened, people nodded, and a single tear slid down April's cheek.  
  
"I hope so," she whispered. Don gave her a hug. "I really hope so."  
  
Hours passed. No one spoke. No one slept. They just waited. Waited in tense silence until a strange, strangled sound caught their attention. Everyone froze. It was hoarse and weak and barely audible. But they knew what it was. Someone was coughing. Everyone looked at each other with wide eyes.  
  
"Mikey."  
  
They ignored Splinter's orders and burst into the room.  
  
Splinter was holding his youngest son in a sitting position, using his front against Michelangelo's shell and helping him hold a pillow to his chest. And Mikey was coughing – coughing! They were small, weak, raspy coughs, but they were coughs just the same. His eyes were shut tightly, his brow furrowed in pain. Doctor Cartagan was almost immediately at his side. She sat on the other end of the couch.  
  
Mikey gave a deep-sounding hack that rattled in his chest. He winced, clutching the pillow tighter.  
  
"That's it," Cartagan encouraged him. "Don't stop yet. One or two more. That's it."  
  
Michelangelo winced. 'Hurts,' he mouthed. Cartagan took his hand.  
  
"I know it hurts," she whispered, "But you're doing a great job. Don't stop yet."  
  
April and Casey clung to each other. The three turtles looked on with wide eyes.  
  
Two more deep, throaty coughs and Mikey leaned back, gasping for breath. Splinter stroked his forehead. He looked at Dr. Cartagan, who nodded.  
  
"Rest now, my son," he said gently. "You have done well. I am very proud of you."  
  
Michelangelo closed his eyes.  
  
"That," said Dr. Cartagan, "Is the most I've heard him cough in a while." Everyone agreed. "Sounded like it loosened things up in his lungs a little bit. Not completely, but it's progress."  
  
"Progress," said Casey, "That's good, right?"  
  
Cartagan nodded.  
  
"Is he..." April asked meekly. "Is he going to be okay?"  
  
Splinter was laying Mikey's head – he was too deep in sleep to notice – on the pillow. Jeanie watched them.  
  
"His chances are a lot better," she admitted, "Now that he's able to cough again. But he'll need a lot of care before we can say he's completely out of danger. He'll need a lot of rest and a lot of TLC. But... yeah. If we make sure he keeps coughing, give him a lot of fluids, monitor his body temperature carefully... he has a good chance of a full recovery."  
  
The rush of breath being let out was nearly deafening. It was like no one had exhaled in three days. April and Casey hugged. The three brothers cheered; Splinter let a single tear slide down his furry cheek.  
  
Michelangelo slept on.  
  
ONE WEEK LATER  
  
"S'good stuff," Mikey croaked. "I'm proud'a ya, Donnie."  
  
Donatello huffed in mock-annoyance. "I'm technologically competent enough to use a microwave," he said, putting the empty bowl and spoon on the coffee table. "Have a little faith in me."  
  
Michelangelo smiled weakly as he lay back down and propped his head up on one arm. "I have plenty'a faith," he rasped. "I just know you and cooking."  
  
Donnie was about to say something sharp in reply, but his brother started to cough and he closed his mouth. He held out a glass of water and slipped a straw between Mikey's teeth. Michelangelo drank gratefully.  
  
"Thanks, bro."  
  
"Anytime. But you probably still shouldn't talk too much. Save your trachea."  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"Your throat. Save your strength."  
  
"M'kay." Pause. "When will April and the others get back?"  
  
Don rolled his eyes. Some things were just hopeless. "Soon, I think."  
  
"Wonder what they got."  
  
"Knowing Casey, some weird seventies shoot-em-up."  
  
"Nope," said Raph from the doorway. His two brothers looked up, and he grinned. He and Leo sat on the floor by Mikey's feet. "We talked to them before they left. Told 'em just what to get."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can't tell ya, bro," said Raphael, grinning. "It's a surprise."  
  
"Aw," croaked Mikey, "C'mon."  
  
"Nope. Not tellin'. Unlike some of us, I can keep my trap shut when I need 'ta."  
  
"Did he eat?" Leo asked Don as Mikey stuck out his tongue.  
  
Donnie nodded. "I made him soup. _Yes_, I did it by myself," he snapped as Leo raised his eye ridges, "And _no_, I didn't break, burn or otherwise destroy anything. Geez."  
  
"I didn't say a word."  
  
"At any rate, he's getting his appetite back. Not as insatiably Mikey- esque as normal, but getting there."  
  
"Yeah," said Michelangelo. "It was weird not being hungry. I mean, it wasn't... right... It was... just... weird."  
  
"Clearly your gift for eloquence is back to normal," Donnie cracked.  
  
"Wha?"  
  
The brothers laughed.  
  
"It's good ta have ya back, Mikey," said Raph. "It's good ta have ya back."  
  
The others agreed.  
  
"Hey!" called a voice from the front door. "We're home!"  
  
"Casey!" the turtles called. He, April and Jeanie came in the room. All three looked happy to see Mikey awake.  
  
"We got it," said Casey proudly. "Took us a while, but we found it. Not exactly my kinda thing... but it works."  
  
"What is it?" Mikey asked.  
  
"Hey," said April, "It's a surprise."  
  
"Aw, c'mon..."  
  
"Did you see Master Splinter when you came in?" Leo asked. "Because we haven't – "  
  
"I am right here." Splinter smiled from the doorway. He crossed the room to Michelangelo's side and placed a furry paw on his forehead. "How are you feeling, my son?"  
  
"M'kay," Michelangelo replied. "Been better, been worse."  
  
"His fever's mostly gone," Donatello informed him.  
  
"I can tell."  
  
"Sensei," Mikey rasped, "What movie did they get? They won't tell me."  
  
Splinter only smiled.  
  
"Aw, man. Not you too." Michelangelo started to cough.  
  
"Save your breath, Michelangelo. You will see."  
  
Jeanie was putting the tape into the VCR. Mikey lit up as the credits came into view.  
  
"The Goonies!" he cried. "You rented it!" He coughed again.  
  
"Careful, Mikey," Leo warned him. "Don't hurt yourself."  
  
"I'm okay."  
  
Many pairs of eyes were glowing as the ending credits began to roll. Jeanie got up.  
  
"Are you taking off?" April asked her.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Are we going to see you before you move into your new house?"  
  
"Maybe. I don't know... I have a lot of stuff to do and now that Mikey's going to be okay..."  
  
"Wait a sec," said Michelangelo, struggling to sit up. April and Don pushed him back down. "You're leaving?"  
  
Jeanie nodded. "I'm moving. I didn't tell you? I've decided city life isn't for me. I found a house in rural Vermont, and I got a job at a Veterinary Practice nearby."  
  
There was a series of protests from the four, apparently uninformed, turtles. Even Splinter seemed sad to see her go.  
  
"You know my number," she assured them. "My cell won't change. If anything happens, either to you," she looked at Mikey, "now or to any of you others later, feel free to call me. I won't be too far to come help if you need it."  
  
"Thanks," said Leo. "That means a lot."  
  
"I just wish there was something we could do for you," said Donatello.  
  
Jeanie was smiling, watching them sit together.  
  
"You've done plenty."

**A/N: **Wait! We're not done yet! We still have an Epilogue. Oh, and for those of you who still thought I'd kill him off, see my Author's Note on Chapter 5 (Part 6).


	11. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
_"Mas'er Splin'er!" Mikey cried, jumping up and down, threatening to burst with joy, "Mas'er Splin'er, wake up! It's Chris'mas! Mas'er..." he was cut off when his Sensei opened the door to his bedroom. "It's Chris'mas!" he informed him.  
  
"Yes, Michelangelo," Splinter replied with a fond smile. "So I heard. But please try not to wake your brothers."  
  
But Leo and Don were already in the main room, jumping around and shaking presents wrapped in makeshift paper. Splinter looked down at his youngest son, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet.  
  
"Very well," he said, "I will go check on Raphael."  
  
A few minutes later, the three brothers were sitting quietly but impatiently, each with a present in his lap. They seemed to be opening them with their eyes, so intense were their stares. Splinter cradled his son gently in his arms and set him on the couch. Raphael coughed.  
  
"You brothers will find you your presents, Raphael," he said. Raph nodded.  
  
"Wait!" cried Mikey. "Not yet! There's somethin' I gotta give you first." He dove under the couch and retrieved a brightly decorated sheet of folded paper. "It's a get well card. I've been workin' on it for a long time."  
  
Raph's eyes were downcast, but he gave his little brother a small smile. "Thanks, Mikey," he said.  
  
Michelangelo's young eyes were quiet and full of understanding as he looked his brother in the eye.  
  
"Must be a bummer," he said quietly.  
  
Raph muttered, "You have no idea," so quietly under his breath that even Sensei couldn't hear him. Mikey looked sad for a moment, but brightened suddenly.  
  
"I have an idea!" he cried. "I'll be you!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'll be you! You're sad 'cuz you hafta stay on the couch, so I'll be you and get your presents so you don't hafta miss out on getting them!" The three brothers exchanged dubious looks.  
  
"Mikey," asked Don slowly, "Have you hit your head on something recently?"  
  
"Cuz you're sounding kinda psycho," said Leo.  
  
"So, what else is new?" Raph pointed out.  
  
"No way!" Mikey cried. "It's a great plan! Watch." He folded his arms and scowled. "Look, I'm Raph and I'm real tough. Whatev-ah." Mikey punched the armrest of the couch as hard as he could, then let out a girlish shriek of pain. "Ow," he whined, cradling his knuckles.  
  
"Hey, stupid," said Raphael as Don and Leo roared with laughter, "That's not me."  
  
"I didn't mean that part," said Mikey indignantly. He scowled again and said in an exaggerated deep voice, "I'm gunna go find my presents now. Try ta stop me and I'll... punch ya." It was all Splinter could do to contain his laughter as Mikey proceeded to pounce on the pile of presents, zealously root through them for one with Raph's name, fish it out, and bring it back. "There," he said proudly as his sick brother took it in his hands. "Now I'm Mikey again. See that?"  
  
There was a momentary pause.  
  
"It is pretty clever," Donatello admitted.  
  
"Thoughtful, too," said Leo.  
  
"You," Raph said to his youngest brother, "Are so dumb."  
  
Mikey's face fell. Raph grinned.  
  
"But thanks anyway, bro."  
  
Mikey beamed. There was another pause as the two brothers looked at each other. Michelangelo hugged Raphael fiercely.  
  
"Hey, hey," said Raph, "Quit with the mushy stuff before I... cough on you or somethin'."  
  
"Wouldn't matter," said Mikey, "Donnie says moo-nony-a is nonc... no- non... noncom... nonconnun..."  
  
"Noncommunicable," said Don.  
  
"Yeah," said Mikey. "That. So," he stuck out his tongue and said in a sing-song voice, "you can't hurt me. Nyah nyah..."  
  
"That is enough," said Splinter. "You may now open your presents."

* * *

_"Razor," the young girl chided, "Be patient. Stop moving."  
  
Dr. Cartagan smiled. "Don't worry about it, Brittany. I've measured squirmier little guys than this one before. There," she scribbled some numbers down on to a piece of paper. "Almost finished. Just have to pop him on the scale, and they'll be done."  
  
"Are we really your last patients ever in New York?"  
  
"Yep. I leave tomorrow."  
  
"See that?" the little girl poked one of the three turtles in the cage. "You should feel special." The turtle waved his head and looked at her hand closely. "No," Brittany said, sighing, "I don't have any food. And for the last time, neither does she. You'll get a treat when we get home, if you're good."  
  
"Bean?" Cartagan asked.  
  
"Yep. What's so funny?"  
  
"Nothing. They just kinda remind me of some friends of mine."  
  
"Really? People or turtles?"  
  
Cartagan had to hide a smile. It took her a second to come up with the right word.  
  
"Teenagers," she finally decided on. "There you go," she said, picking up Razor and placing him back in his cage. "All done."  
  
"Good. See that?" Brittany shook a finger at Razor. "All done. Hey. Don't you look at me like that. It's for your own good. And maybe your next Vet won't be so nice. Then what will you do? Bite them?" Silence. "He wishes."  
  
Cartagan smiled.  
  
"Well, bye," said Brittany. "Have a nice time in Vermont."  
  
"Thanks. Bye."  
  
It was with a slightly sad smile that Jeanie shut the door behind her for the last time. She hadn't told the others, though some of them may have suspected, but part of her reason for moving was a fear that if she stayed too long, her former employment might come back to bite her. She knew that April had burned the pictures, that the henchmen Ratcliph hired had returned to their normal lives, and that Mr. Miller had a new job in Britain. But of Sir Ratcliph himself, she knew nothing. Was he alive? Was he dead? Was he climbing back up to power? Cartagan didn't know. And she didn't want to be in Manhattan if he ever got back on his feet.  
  
A strange noise, like a footstep on metal, echoed from the alley behind her. Cartagan spun around, but upon hearing and seeing nothing, unlocked her car.  
  
She was certain by now that he knew, or had a strong suspicion, that she had a part in his failure. The thought of what he could do to her... she shuddered. Best to move to rural Vermont, where she could settle down, raise a family among Mountains and trees and grass... maybe even take up skiing again.  
  
"Going somewhere, _Doctor_?"  
  
Jeanie froze. Her blood ran cold; she clenched her keys hard in her hand to keep it from shaking.  
  
Sir Ratcliph appeared from the shadows, looking none the worse for the wear. His hair had been well-kept, his clothing pressed and spotless. The only sign of failure was in his eyes. And the knife in his hand. Cartagan jumped a mile.  
  
"Ex-excuse me Sir?"  
  
"I asked you if you were going someplace, _Doctor _Cartagan. Because I have an important matter of business I wish to discuss with you."  
  
"I'm sorry," Jeanie said, doing her very best to keep her voice even. "But I was under the impression that my services were no longer required."  
  
"That is true, Doctor," said Ratcliph, his polite British tone clashing with the glare in his eyes. "But there is a matter on which I wish to speak to you. I believe," he moved the dagger just enough for it to catch the glare of the street light. "That you could spare a minute or two of your time, _Doctor_?"  
  
Shadows were moving in the alley. Dark ones. They didn't look friendly.  
  
"Of-of course," Cartagan stammered. "How may I help you?"  
  
"Walk and talk?"  
  
The shadows were still moving. Jeanie didn't like them.  
  
"I really don't have that much time, sir," she said, fighting to keep calm. "I would rather just talk here."  
  
"Very well," Ratcliph sighed. Jeanie's pulse slowed, but slightly. Why wasn't he resisting her?  
  
"I've found," Ratcliph continued, as if he had heard her thought, "That when in America, one does as the Americans do, and when in the Big Apple, one does as New Yorkers do." He snapped his fingers. Several dark shadows began to take the shape of several men with black clothing, with clubs and smirks on their dark faces. Cartagan's heart pounded. She fumbled to unlock the door of her car, but a strong hand grabbed her wrist and an arm grabbed her waist and soon her keys were no longer in her posession.  
  
"Hellllll-" her cry was cut off by yet another hand over her mouth. She struggled and clawed and even bit, but there were too many and they were far too strong. _This is it,_ she thought, resigned. _I'm going to_  
  
A long, loud cry interrupted her thoughts. She heard a thump and a gruff 'oof,' and suddenly was free. Cartagan scrambled to climb into her car amongst the scuffle. She didn't, however, drive off. The henchmen who had come after her all seemed to be fighting one person. And that 'person's' silhouette looked awfully familiar...  
  
Jeanie grinned widely at the sight of his mask tails flapping as he spun. So they were back.  
  
Soon every last henchman was either flat on his back or running away. The turtle didn't bother chasing them.  
  
"You," he said, pointing a green finger at Sir Ratcliph. Ratcliph gaped; Cartagan wondered if he recognized this one or was just terrified of the turtles after what they did the first time around. "This lady is under Official Turtle Protection now, got it? Leave her alone, and we'll leave you alone."  
  
His voice sounded so different...  
  
Ratcliph fled. The turtle spun around as Cartagan climbed back out of her car. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Jeanie nodded breathlessly. "I'm fine, Mikey. Thanks."  
  
"No problemo, dudette," Michelangelo grinned. "Just doin' my duty. You saved my life, and I save yours, right?"  
  
"Yeah. I take it you're feeling better, then?"  
  
"Good as new. It's great to be back in the sweet New York City sewer air." He took a deep breath with an exaggerated sort of contented smile on his face. Cartagan laughed. "Thanks a million."  
  
"Anytime," Jeanie replied. "And I mean that. If you guys ever need me again, just call. April has my number."  
  
Mikey's face fell. "Do you really have to go?" Jeanie nodded.  
  
"'Fraid I do. I had my last day today at work, and I'm all set and ready for things in Mendon."  
  
"Mendon?"  
  
"It's where the house is. A big, nice rural area. Very woody, lots of mountains. It's by Killington."  
  
"You mean that big ski resort? Sweet! So you could go snowboarding like every day!"  
  
Jeanie smiled. "Pretty much. Though I'm more of a skiier, actually," she said.  
  
Mikey made a face. "A skiier? Bo-ring." Cartagan laughed again.  
  
"I'll see you around, kiddo. I'm sure we'll meet again sometime."  
  
"With all the trouble me and my brothers get into? Count on it, dudette. See ya later."  
  
Jeanie climbed into her car and started the ignition, but when she turned around to give Mikey one last wave, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** And... wow. That's it. I always get this weird feeling when a long story like this one is over... like, what do I do with myself now? It's all done. Except with all the College orientation crap (go being a Freshman) and jobs, I'm sure I'll find something. But it's sad, ya know? I love the guys, and writing them is so much fun. 'Specially Mikey. But Don is my second favorite, and as I get more and more into this, he's growin on me a little more. Who knows, maybe something of mine will come out on him. But I make no promises. We'll see.  
  
And thanks. Seriously. For the millionth time, you all rock. There were times when I was having a really crappy day and I would come check for reviews and see a couple new ones, and it would seriously make my day brighter. They just put me in this fantastic mood. So thanks to you all. (And LilPup... yes, in fact, I am going to major in writing. Hopefully if I can support myself that way, I will become a writer. So there you go.)  
  
Till next time...  
  
Superkat 


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